The Unholy Family
by theendsofmay
Summary: Amara De' Medici believes in her family and their city above all else. To her Rome is the last place on earth anyone would want to be but when she is sent to be under the care of Cesare Borgia her whole life is uprooted, "For the good of the family." Is the love she bears for her family enough? A tale of survival, heartbreak and the scandal of Rome. *Suck a summaries* Based in S1
1. The poisoned chalice

**The Poisoned Chalice **

There is a wall in my home that holds a mural. My mother would take me to look at it when I was young and remind me what we were fighting for. What I am still fighting for: Florence.

They're all there.

My father;

My mother;

My grandfather;

My Uncle;

"Amara."

Startled I turn my head from the artwork towards my brother, Piero De' Medici. His face fallen into an unfortunate slump which doesn't suit him. He wasn't blessed with a beautiful face and the constant frowning didn't help.

"I'm sorry." I smile hoping to lighten the mood that had descended upon us.

"Pope Innocent is dying." He tells me planting a quail's egg into his mouth.

"This is news?" I ask confused. Pope Innocent VIII had been dying for weeks now. It was the main topic of conversation in our palace.

Piero places his fork down into the wooden table and sighs. "The news is that they do not believe he is going to pull through."

I bite my inner lip and speak: "I would not discard God's power so easily, brother."

"This is not about God, Amara."Piero seems more frantic than usual as he attacks his food. "This is politics."

"I will not speak of a dead man before he is dead, Piero." I raise out of my place not wanting to anger him anymore. He's been on edge ever since his wife went into confinement with his first child. I blame nerves.

I start my departure from the room. "Sister, please." Antonia – my elder by two years – pleads calling after me while looking between her two siblings.

I don't bother turning back to face her, I'm hungry anymore.

* * *

I return from riding in a mid-day sweat.

Florentine heat in August is fierce. It bakes my skin and that of my horse so much that we are forced to return early before I had fully found the strength to forgive my Brother. I don't know what raged the fiery passion inside of me, maybe it is that somewhere deep inside I know that a new Pope breeds tyrants.

"My Lady."

"Pedro." I greet the stable hand. I slip from the saddle to look around the maddening courtyard. "What's happened? What have they heard?"

"The Pope has breathed his last, My Lady." His eyes shifted from my face to the floor searching for my reaction.

"When?" I press, begging for more information.

"I do not know, My Lady." He is back to looking at the floor again.

I hand him the leather reigns of my horse. "Thank you, Pedro." I stalk towards the Medici House before spinning of my heel. "Make sure he gets water, Pedro."

I race through the door and towards Piero's quarters where he sits with Machiavelli – the Florentine ambassador.

"I suppose that you've heard?" I say looking between the two of them.

"Yes." Piero answers.

"And?" I raise my eyebrows high excited to hear more news. "Who is to be our new voice of God?"

"It's not decided yet, dear sister." He tells me. "The Collage of Cardinals are selecting as we speak."

"I best pray for them then." I grin dipping into a small curtsy.

"I do not believe that praying will affect the Collage of Cardinal's decision." Machiavelli voices in a monotone.

"Perhaps," I nod. "But I do believe it shall lift my conscience to do so."

* * *

We hear nothing but rumours from Rome for days.

Then, on August 11th, five days after Pope Innocent's death we receive word.

The election over, Pope Alexander Sixtus had been announced the new ruler of the Church and all that came with it.

That evening I sit in my apartments combing through my dark hair when my Nurse Maid enters.

"Darling," She takes my hands and twirls me to face her. "Sweetling." She caresses my face with her soft hands. "Your brother wishes to see you."

"What is it now?" I scoff looking into her soft blue eyes. They are warm as they always are. I miss them when away, with my life so full of harsh tones it is good to have such softness.

"He wishes to talk about the new pope with you." She smiles taking my left hand and raising it to her mouth.

"I suppose I mustn't keep him waiting then." I take three deep breathes before rising to exit out of the room. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck." She pinches my cheeks bringing colour to the surface. "Beautiful."

"Do you know about this meeting, Nurse?" I inquire sheepishly. "If you knew anything about it you'd tell me?"

"Of course I would tell you." I laugh at my stupidity.

Of course; she is lying.

* * *

"Brother." I greet as I enter his office. It smells of wine and dust that had flown in from the open window. "Machiavelli." I'm shocked to find him with my brother for the second time in matter of days.

"Please sit down," He gestures to an empty chair. "Dear sister."

I place myself in the wooden chair next to my brother and remain silent. I doesn't matter if I speak or not, I am not in charge of the conversation.

"Machiavelli has been," he searches for the words to finish his sentence. "Informed of a position."

"A position for me?" My brow folds as my gaze leads from one man to another.

"Yes." My brother beams as though he os blessed by news from the Archangel Gabriel. "A grand position."

My heart hammers in my chest. "Where is this position?"

"Rome." He reports to me.

"Rome." I repeat astonished.

"It is a great prospect for the House of Medici." Machiavelli tries to lower the tension that is raising in the room like a soft breeze flowing through a window.

"And you care so much for the house of Medici." I snap but his smirking face told me it was no good. Machiavelli loves the Medicis and his love for my father secured that in my heart. "Perhaps you do. But you," I revolve my head to face my brother. "You hate Rome, our Father hated Rome. Medici's are bred for Florence."

"Father knew Rome was necessary to survive." Piero argues back at me.

"Yes," I agree. "A necessary _evil_."

"Amara," Machiavelli calls my name grabbing my involuntary attention. "You are right. Medici's are bred for Florence and this is a way for you to secure Florence to Rome."

My heart bleeds. I love Florence, I will love Florence until my last day and beyond that if it is possible. "What is this grand position then, Brother?"

"The Pope's son – the Bishop of Pamplona – wishes to take you as a ward."

"You say it like I have a choice." I find amusement in his phrasing. "Do I have a choice?"

"No." He answers solemnly.

"So I'm to be sold," My anger raises again "Like a sheep at market?"

"Do not think of it like that." My brother advises.

"Then how am I to think of it?" I rage. "And to be left in the care of the Pope's son? What sort of Pope has a son?"

"You forget our _Father _married our sister Maria to Pope Innocent's son." He reminds me in a scolding tone.

"So you want to become our Father?" I accuse him. "It does not bode well with fate to try and repeat the past. I'm sure Machiavelli will tell you that." They both remain silent and I continue, it is unlikely they will remain voiceless for long. I am young and they are wise after all. "And anyway our sister has fled Rome now."

"Which makes this alliance even more important." Machiavelli inputs for my stunned brother.

"Why can Antonia not go?" I do not want to be sent away from my Florence, I would rather sell my sister to the dogs than leave it. "She is older than I and more influential. I am sure that the Pope would prefer her to be in the care of his son."

"Machiavelli has found your sister a great match in Piero Ridolfo."

"Our sister." I correct. "Do not get too far ahead of yourself, Brother; even you are not above blood ties."

"Your sister indeed." Machiavelli smiles. It is a strange and unnerving sight. "Amara, the Pope asked for you specifically."

My head races. Why would the Pope care for me? I'm not important and although not ugly I still not a notorious beauty. I am no Belle.

"What house is this Pope from?" I shrug biting my lower lip.

They look at one another with a face of concern. It rest upon my brother's face more than Machiavelli's who is used to the temper tantrums of alliances. Then Machiavelli – since my brother was too much of a coward – utters a word that fills me with dread:

"Borgia."

* * *

"Borgia!" I exclaim to my nurse once back in the safe confinements of my apartment. "Can you believe it? A Borgia Pope!"

My nurse nods sewing a floral pattern onto a cushion and not paying very much attention to me. I don't notice of course. I am too caught up in myself.

"And I am expected to be the ward of this Borgia's son? What Pope has an illegitimate son in our Holy Mother Church? It's an abomination."

"Is it an abomination to love?" My nurse questions with a smirk.

"No," I chuckle at the mere thought of it. "Of course not."

"Then how is this different?"

"But surely you have heard of the horrible things that spew about the House of Borgia?" I cry in an effort to rally her to my side.

"I have." She nods. "But Italy is fuelled upon rumours, my Love. They are often twisted along their way to our ears."

"But a Borgia." My voice has sunk down but the outrage still lies underneath. "The name strikes fear into the heart. Don't you agree?"

"It has the ability to do so, my sweet." She continues poking holes into the material on her lap.

"But?" I prompt.

She inhales deeply and sets her sewing beside her. "It would be a good opportunity for you."

"But to sell myself to the unholy family for a 'good opportunity' is not good?" I purse my lips feeling defeated.

"This world is what we make of it." She teaches me rising for her chair to take my head between her hands.

"How does it work?" I ask in a small voice. "Being a ward?"

"You will live where he tells you, he'll provide you with an allowance, and when the time comes find you a husband." I find myself criminally uninformed.

"So my brother won't be in charge of anything to do with me then?" My insides twist. "I have truly been sold in all but name."

"Come here." She studies me with those blue eyes once more. "I promise you that everything will be well." She clasp her soft hands in mine and twirls me into the wooden stool that sits in front of my dressing station.

"I think I shall be able to be a ward." I resolve once she starts combing through my wavy hair. "Although I would prefer to stay here."

"There are situations you must prepare yourself for." She says the words so nonchalantly I am not prepared for what will happen next. "Romantic situations."

My mouth is dry. I feel a strange sickness inside of me, as though a thousand bees have set to build their nest in my stomach. I am scared, or petrified at the idea of seduction. I do not know how an act of Love is performed. All my knowledge of such an event is stemmed from overheard drunk banter between men.

"But I'm not married." I tell her assuming she must have forgotten that detail. I am to become a ward to a Borgia, not marry one. She must have her information wrong.

"You do not need to be married to be a mistress." I don't understand. I can't be a mistress, I am a _Medici_.

"That's impossible." I have only met one mistress in my life– Lucrezia Donati. She was my father's mistress and she was as intolerable as she was beautiful. I didn't _hate_ her but I didn't _like_ her. My mother often told me we should never hate but when she said it about Lucrezia Donati it was often with an edge.

"How can it be impossible when girls younger than you are married?" I gaze into my reflection moving a piece of chestnut coloured hair from my eyes by tucking it behind my ear. My green eyes sparkled with tears that I blink back. I feel hollow and yet I overflow with the emotion that is crushing onto my heart.

"But they are married." I stress.

"I have heard that this Cesare Borgia loves his sister and would do anything to keep her innocent. He views her as being too young for marriage and since you're the same age as her I doubt he will see you in such a romantic light." I suppose that makes me feel better. I'm eager to hold onto my innocence for as long as possible.

"But when I get older?" I query.

"Yes." I can hear the pressure in her voice. "There is a stronger possibility then. There are cases of wards marrying into their adopted families."

"But I am not old enough for men to enjoy yet?" I try to lay my thoughts out in my head. "Am I?" I do not wish to be enjoyed. It does not sound kind but sad to be taken as such. Not like the gallant tales I read before bed, the ones I base my _husband _on.

"Of course not. Now come to bed." Her voice lulls me into a soft state as she helps me into the sheets that I allow to swallow me. "Think of tomorrow as a new beginning."

It takes me longer than normal to drift off and yet it less time than I expect. I let myself slowly sink into a world of dreams and nightmares.

* * *

And so, as it had been decided for me, I am removed from _my_ Florence. My Florence full of art, sculptures, poetry and life for Rome. Rome which is known to stink to high heaven and is littered with poor unfortunate souls who learnt the hard way that there was nowhere kind for them.

"They say Rome is the pinnacle of the world." My nurse whispers to me as we exited the boundaries of Florence.

I give a weak smile and decide not to remind her that the pinnacle of an object is the most fragile.

* * *

**A/N: so please tell me what you think. It's part of my save the Borgias campaign. Amara is so mary sue in this chapter but it's okay because she's not as Mary Sue as time goes on. **

**My instagram is: The endsofmay (I nearly always follow back)**

**My Tumblr is: Areallifefangirl**


	2. The Assassin

**A/N: So I've changed this to third person just because it will be easier at a later date but if you hate it tell me and I'll change it back. Thank you for the alerts and reviews I hope to upload more now exams are over. **

**The Assassin**

Amara groaned as her head smacked against the wooden frame of her carriage.

She felt heavy. Her muscles ached. She wanted a bath. A bath to slip into, she imagined submerging herself into the intoxicating water. She imagined her nurse complaining that the waters shouldn't be cold, that she'd catch her death. Her lips played with a smile, a smile that flattered as she opened her eyes and remembered where she was.

Amara felt a sudden washed with annoyance. She couldn't have a Florentine bath because she was not in Florence.

She had succumbed to slumber in the midday heat, her black hair gently floating in the wind. Holding her tender head she looked around remembering that she was now a member of Rome.

"Look at the architecture." Her nurse gestured to the sky. She didn't look up though. She couldn't. All she could see were the crowds as they ogled at the satin that draped over her carriage. That was not what the pinnacle of the world should look like. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's not Florence." She mumbled quietly as the large wooden wheels came to a halt.

Her nurse stepped from the coach first with her effervescent character overflowing. She was excited to be in Rome. All the children who had fed from her now had grand prospects and opportunity to succeed. Amara was not her favourite child of the eleven Medici children she had nurtured but she was the youngest, and therefore the only one left to help.

Amara De' Medici placed a gloved hand in her nurses fleshy pale one lifting up her dress to keep herself from tripping. The common folk push at one another to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals. She pause her eyes drifting up to inspect the building in front of her eyes. It's tall, a sandy colour, and different from home; taller.

"This is the Vatican." She whispered into the child's ear.

"So the Pope lives here." She confirmed to herself. "I would have thought it would be grander; for God's representative on earth."

"It's said to have magnificent gardens." Amara stared at her nurse before deciding she's was trying to enthuse her. After all her love of nature was well known.

"Yes." She nodded accepting the rumours. "I can believe that."

Amara bit her lip in an attempt to distract herself from the feeling of apprehension twisting away at her stomach and set her foot upon the step. Then another, then another. She repeated the pattern until it looked calm and full of grace. To the crowds below, she have no doubt that it did but to Amara it felt unnatural.

* * *

The room satisfactory and although not laced with paintings like Amara was used to in her chamber in Florence it did have something new and exotic she wasn't used to.

"This will not be your room for long." Her nurse informed her holding a blue dress high in the air.

"Why is that, dear nurse?" She pondered only half interested. The other half of her found itself invested in tracing the patterns on the ceiling.

"Your guardians will move you to a more subtle home after they have met you." The Nurse said the words swiftly in hope Amara wouldn't not catch their true meaning. The young fool didn't.

"Why can they not decide where I am to stay before they have seen me?" She mulled over her words.

She fiddled with the lace of one of the gowns in front of her searching for a new way to phrase her answer. "They will place you were they see best fit."

Amara found herself catching on suddenly sitting up with an idea. "So, if they like me they will put me in a grand room?"

"Yes."

She felt a rush of giddy realisation. "I should like a nice room in this Rome."

The Nurse took my favourite blue dress and lay it over the painted wooden dressing screen.

"No." Amara shook her head. She had an idea. "Not my blue, my purple."

"Purple, my lady?" She sounded perplexed.

"Yes." Amara raised from her place with a happy smile at her Nurse's confusion. "A perfect mix of Medici blue and Borgia red."

The Nurses eyebrows raised high. "Who taught you that?" Perhaps she didn't like Amara's idea. The thought caught her for a moment setting her back. Then, she realised, it didn't matter what her Nurse thought.

Amara had already set her mind.

Amara's feet plodded across the room behind the wooden dressing screen. "I am of Florence. It would be disgraceful if I did not know that." She smiled at the memory of learning about mixing colours. Art was easy in Florence, you couldn't avoid it. Her father would welcome Leonardo Da Vinci himself at their table where they would discuss artistic nature. That was before removing her to discuss battle instead.

"I will accept my fate," Amara De' Medici declared quietly taking the heavy fabric between her fingertips. "But I will also hold onto my past. I am to keep my Medici name after all." 

* * *

"Never, Madonna, have you looked so lovely." Amara's nurse had assured her.

She'd beamed triumphantly at her work. Amara did look beautiful with her hair tied with ribbons, her gown complimenting her olive Florentine skin. She felt like the Madonna herself.

There are moments in life that will change a person's path forever.

Clarice Orsini, Amara's mother used to tell her that. Then, she would sing of gallant tales and tell her of Florence and how the Medici's did not fear.

Amara tried to remember that as she stood in the Vatican's private rooms. She had no familiar faces to reassure her, her Nurse wasn't allowed in with her to meet the Pope and his son.

Amara took a deep breath feeling utterly alone.

Her head coiled towards the sound of the heavy doors opening and the hum of voices. Amara watched, mesmerized by them. The Pope stood in the centre of a red sea, the cardinals. His golden Holy robes glimmered in the sunlight that streamed in from the windows.

They didn't notice her at first. They continued bustling around his Holiness before twisting one by one towards her. Finally, his Holiness turned and beamed with recognition.

"My child." His voice was so rich and commanding it was no wonder to Amara why God had chosen him.

Amara moved slowly making precise movements as she went down on her knees. Then, as she had practiced in her head a thousand times, she kissed the papal ring. Amara stay in her place, head bent. He turned his hands as though he was about to receive communion himself. Amara accepted the gesture and rose.

"Amara de' Medici." Her name sounded like a game upon his lips. A game that only he knows the rules of. The thought caused Amara's stomach to explode with nerves.

"Your Holiness." She greeted not meeting his eyes at first.

"It appears that rumours do not lie when comes to you." She did not know what rumours he talked of but smiled anyway. "We would love to have the pleasure of your company but I am afraid more pressing matters call."

Amara flushed. "Of course, Your Holiness."

"My son, shall see you are looked after. While We are called to the Holy Mother Church." He placed her hands upon his chapped lips to kiss them, bless them.

The sea of red parted and he walked, like Moses parting the red sea. Amara saw him then standing proudly in his black robes. He was darkness personified. His dark hair, onyx eyes, and black robes suited him as he smirked.

Amara found it odd that his father, so holy, dressed in white and gold had a son that stood so arrogantly in black.

They remained silent when the room had cleared. Then, with precise measure Cesare Borgia moved over to the table on the other side of the room. Amara heard the wine slosh as it met the silver goblet.

"Tell me, Lady Medici. What does Florence think of its new papal rule?" Amara tried not to look shocked. It was not a question she had anticipated.

"I do not know." She attempted to stop herself from stuttering. "I was not in Florence under this Papal rule long enough to tell. I could not even tell you what Rome thinks of it."

"You have a good judgment, my Lady." He complimented her. "You don't commit yourself very easily. Then tell me this, what is your verdict of this new rule?"

"God has chosen your father. God sees it fit for him to rule us, I cannot argue with God."

"So it wasn't the college of Cardinals then?" He grinned placing his goblet down onto the wood.

Amara cast her eyes down.

"I forget," His voice commanded her to look up. "What is the Medici motto?"

"_Money to get power, and power to guard the money_." Amara answered with a small smile. He chuckled. "And what is the Borgia's?"

"We do not have one." He said carelessly as though he had simply misplaced it.

"Then you should make one, Your grace." Amara told him lightly while taking a step forwards.

"Is that possible?"

"Anything is possible."

A quiet hush descended upon them and for a moment Amara felt at peace. He held the goblet he was then drinking from out in front of him willing her to take it. She did. Crossing the room Amara gulped the sweet red liquid. It did not taste like Florentine wine but it wasn't bad even with its sweetness.

"My lady." Her head spun to the commotion of the next room. Cesare sighed squeezing his eyes shut. "Would be impossible." The women's voice continued. "That the Pope must be _chaste_, and he must be _seen_ to be chaste!" The Pope stalked through the room heading towards his own private chamber. "Don't you want them to hear," Amara saw her then flying after him. The women that the voice was tearing from. "That you have a _new whore!" _

Amara De'Medici was mesmerized by the sight in front of her. But even more so by the cardinals who followed the couple like hounds lapping up scraps left under a table.

Cesare stirred and charged towards the women. "Mother." He was holding back his scornful tone.

"Farnese." She spat the word out as though it were poison.

"Get out!" The Pope barked the demand while placing the doors closed in the hope of remaining an air of calm.

Cesare turned so his back was facing the door, protecting it. His icy gaze fell upon the pack of cardinals. "What?" He pushed himself forward. "Be gone." He seethed.

"We were…" They stuttered trying to find words.

Cesare didn't listen to them instead he repeated his words: "Be gone." He pushed and shoved them out of the room following them through.

"I banished my husband for your sake!" Her tone ripped through the walls.

"You are the mother of my children." He reasoned back trying to soothe her.

Amara didn't want to listen. Mistresses and talk of mistresses did not rest well with her conscience.

"Be _gone!" _ She could hear Cesare's orders booming. "Out!"

Amara decided that they must fall to her also. Her feet moved from their place where she had stood transfixed on the sight that unfolded in front of her just a few moments before.

Cesare grabbed her arm as she reached the door. "Not you."

"I really don't feel –" Amara strained herself to reason.

"Nonsense." He declared. "You are to stay with the Borgia's you should know their secrets. You are practically a Borgia yourself." Amara knew the words were deliberate to appease her. To let her know that she had a place in the Vatican under the Pope's bastard son's care. It didn't soothe her though. It stripped her of her title, of her Medici heritage.

"It pleases me to hear you say such words, Your Grace but…" Cesare's mama roared again. "Could we please speak of something?" Amara begged knowing he will not let her leave.

"You do not wish to hear gossip?" He sounded unconvinced.

In any other situation she would have loved to hear gossip. She would relish in it, but that day was not any day and she did not wish to hear of the Pope's mistress.

"Please, Your Grace." Amara pleaded once more after turning toward the shouts.

"You are from Florence." He leaned back on the table. "Tell me of art."

"What of it? It is a broad subject, especially for someone of Florence." She spoke crossing the room to get away from the shouting.

"You were painted by Leonardo Da Vinci were you not?" He made it sound like a question but Amara knew it isn't really. He already knew the outcome.

"When I was a girl, yes."

"I am told he finished in days, is that correct?"

"Months." She corrected.

"Ah," Cesare nodded with a gleam. "But he did finish? My brother would be jealous."

"It was a gift, for my Father." Amara didn't like the discussion. Leonardo had worked for her father and she did not want to remind a Borgia of her undeniable wealth. "Leonardo was out of favour with him at the time."

"Over what?"

Amara froze at the question. It was wrong. It should have been 'over whom?' after all they were fighting over her Father's mistress: _Lucrezia Donati._

"I was young. I cannot remember." Amara was used to lying so it came to her tongue swiftly. She took a sip of wine letting the cool liquid mollify her.

It didn't achieve its aim. 

* * *

Amara found Rome different from Florence but no less interesting.

She enjoy walking through the Vatican's halls in the hope of finding some new exciting pathway to follow.

It was on her second day of exploring that she saw a face she had longed to see for so long.

"Giovanni!" Amara's cry echoed in the busy hall.

He turned and squinted in confusion. His legs moved so quickly it looked as though he was flying under his Cardinal robes.

"Sister." He greeted her with a kiss on both her soft rose tainted cheeks.

He scanned the corridor around them before forcing her next to a pillar so he could get a better glimpse at the girl he hadn't seen in years.

"Brother," She seized him in an embrace. "Red suits you."

"Thank you." He uttered but his heart was not with her.

"What is Brother?" Amara inquired with a small smile. "You do not appear well."

"Oh Amara," He sighed. "My sweet sister, why have you been sent here?"

"The Pope wished me to be in the care of his son." She explained. She was surprised their brother had not written to inform him of the matter.

Giovanni's face drained of blood. "Cesare Borgia?"

"Yes." Amara nodded. "He seems kind."

"No, Amara." He corrected her. "No."

"Giovanni, you fret too much." She tried to calm him.

"No." He snapped. "It is you that frets too little!"

"Brother-"

He grasped her face between his hands. "We are in this clutches of the world. It would be wise to flee."

"You are leaving?"

"With God's will."

"Brother…" She said again but that time she did not know how to finish her sentence.

"Our brother has sent you into the wolf's den, little sister." His voice was more urgent now. "And do not doubt that they are wolves, Amara. You must not trust a single word they say, for the lies they spill will devour you."

Amara wished to speak but her dry mouth forbade her from doing so.

"Remember our mother's words little sister: 'Medici's do not fear.'"

"Medici's do not fear." She repeated the words. They seemed foreign to her no matter how many times she had spoken them.

"Pray for me, little sister as I will pray for you. By the Holy God, Amara, pray for this whole infested world."

She watched him leave. He vanished into the crowd without effort. It was too late for her to remind him of father's saying: _'Medici's do not run, we will fight, until our last breath.'_

Amara breathed knowing it would not be her last and therefore she must keep fighting. 

* * *

Amara continued exploring because she didn't want to think and that was what she would do. She would sit alone in her chamber and think about how she was alone in that pit of wolves.

"You." She twisted to the sweet natured voice. "Who are you?"

"Amara De' Medici." She answered softly. They were alone in the corridor that flooded in light. "And you?"

"Lucrezia Borgia." She declared the words proudly with a smile.

In their distance Amara could admire her safely. She was beautiful, there was no denying it. Her hair curled in soft blonde waves. She was wearing a red gown with green embroidery that complimented her. They looked like opposites standing apart as they were. Lucrezia's blonde hair contrasted with Amara's dark locks. Her pale skin was freckled while Amara's was rosy from Florence's rays she grew in. Her sea blue eyes staring into Amara's cat like green.

"Your necklace is intriguing." Amara noted with a smile. Being brought up a lady she knew the best way to treat a stranger above her station was to charm. Not that Lucrezia was truly above her station, not with her bastard status, but that was back in Florence and Amara wasn't in Florence anymore.

Lucrezia beamed with pleasure closing the space between them. "It is a seahorse." She stated me.

"A sign of protection." Amara remarked observing the beauty of it beneath her delicate fingers.

She nodded, her fingers gracing the Golden design. "How old are you, Amara De' Medici?"

"Thirteen." She responded with quiet confidence.

"I am only twelve." Lucrezia sighed. Her brow fell a little but she grinned anyway. "When did you turn?"

"31st October."

"I was born 18th April."

_Nine days after my father's death. _Amara thought but didn't dare to mention it.

"They say only the beautiful are born in April," Amara decided that was a more appropriate response. "To please the Goddess of Spring."

"My brother says we are to be friends." Lucrezia Borgia rejoiced in the fact suddenly, she could see it in Lucrezia's clear bright eyes.

Amara paused but replied within a beat:

"But how can that be when we are friends already?" 

* * *

"Wonderful news!" Amara's nurse exclaimed pushing the shutters open.

She groaned and rolled over into her bed. It was early and Amara was not used to morning wake up calls. In Florence they slept until God told them it was time to wake not at the sound of church bells or nurses opening shutters.

"Cesare Borgia has agreed to take you under his full care." Amara could hear the beam in her voice but she was not sure what it was there for.

Amara knew she should think harder about what the words meant at her silence but it's was too early for her to register the tone behind the nurse's smile.

"You will not need me here anymore." She said the words slowly so Amara could fully comprehend what they meant.

Amara flies up and stared at her. Amara's eyes welled with prickly hot tears, she closed her eyes to make them go away.

"No." she mutter into empty space. "No." she repeat more firmly.

"There is no reason for me now, my love."

"There is every reason for you to be here." Amara erupted with fire.

The Nurse shook her head. "This is your new world," She paced closer to her. "Your new chance, I have no place in it."

"But I will be alone."

"You will never be alone."

"I will." Amara disagreed with passion. "My brother has fled and the other sits in Florence with his new son oblivious to the world around him. I do not know my place here, what is my place here?"

"You are the ward of Cesare Borgia, the son of the Pope of Rome."

"And all this for the good of the family?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"You are a treasure. You may fight for Florence and all that you hold dear. There are many who would kill to be in your position."

"Then place them in it and let me go home."

"I am to leave in one hour." She finalised and ended their conversation. 

The heat of the sun burned down onto the steps of the Vatican and a miserable Amara De'Medici.

The anger she felt helped her stop the tears from flowing but not from appearing in her eyes.

"I have this for you." Her nurse maid turned to face her. With one swift move she reached behind Amara's neck with both hands and attached something. A necklace; she realised. It was made up of perfect singular white pearls and hanging sweetly from the middle was a blue gem. Amara didn't recognise it. "Your mother was given it to me on her wedding day. She said it made her feel strong. She wished you to feel strong in a time you may not. I was supposed to give it to you on your wedding day but…" she did not finish her sentence and Amara knew why. It was because she would not be there for her wedding day. Today was the last time Amara would ever see her Nurse.

"Thank you." Amara's mouth folded around the words.

"It is Medici blue." She smiled. "Your colour."

The Nurse embraced the child. It was a strange thing for them to embark on but it didn't feel bad. It made Amara feel safe in the arms of someone she knew.

"Remember that you are a Medici surrounded by Borgia's." She said the words but Amara understood her meaning: a lamb, surrounded by wolves.

Amara De'Medici remained upon the stone steps until her Nurse's Carriage is nothing more than a dot in the distance. When she was certain it was gone her heart exploded. The floods come crashing down around her and she feared that if she did not steady herself they would wash her away into the depths of Hell.

The thought didn't scare her though; even Hell was better than Rome.


	3. The Moor

**The Moor**

_January 1493_

Amara de' Medici was bored.

She stretched her left arm out to the side and ran her fingers over each strand of grass that was growing in the Borgia Villa that she had moved into all those months ago. Since her first meeting with Cesare Borgia she had only seen him in private once all to determine if she had settled into her new living arrangements with ease. Amara had assured him that she had although if she were entirely truthful she would have preferred to have been home, even with her spoilt older brother.

A childish laugh filled the air and Amara did not have to open her green eyes to know who it belong to.

"Joffre." Amara's muscles ached as she pulled herself into an upright position. "What are you doing?"

The young boy ran his fingers over the wooden dove coop. "My brother has ordered me to look after his birds. I must check them every morning." She smiled at the swelling pride in the boys tone.

"I mustn't keep you then." Amara leaned back on her flat palms.

"Cesare brought a new dove." He announced loudly.

"What did you call it?" She asked sweetly.

"Amara." Joffre was clearly proud of the name and of his new pet. Amara felt a rush of something overcome her at the sound of the name… annoyance perhaps? It wasn't that she didn't find Joffre's idea kind but it irritated her that the bird would now be locked away just as she was. Now Joffre owned an Amara just as his brother owned her and she wasn't inclined to being a possession.

"How lovely." Amara commented falling back into the meadow once more.

The sound of rustling reached her ears as the boy settled down cross legged studying her every movement. He watched her black hair as it was forced from its perfect position and flowed through the wind.

"Do you have a dowry?" The boy's voice was soft but Amara still had to force herself not to choke on the air in her lungs.

"A dowry?" She repeated his words to make full sense of them.

He nodded his light brown hair catching the sunlight. "Yes, I'm told girls have a dowry for their marriages."

"I don't think that I do." She didn't bother to add that she had not thoughts of being married in the near future. There was no need for Cesare to marry her off when she was such a suitable hostage in the Vatican.

"Does that mean you are not to be wedded?" Amara didn't catch the hope in his tone as he spoke the words.

"Yes."

The poor boy couldn't hear the edge to his new love's tone. He was used to doves not Ladies.

"Do you think that if I asked Cesare he would let us wed?" If the talk of marriage had caught Amara off guard this statement sent her spiralling.

"I do not think that would be possible." Amara's lips formed the words but apart from that there were no other signs that she was not asleep at that moment. To the outside world she was a picture of calm. After all, they couldn't see her heart beating erratically.

"You do not wish to marry me?" Sweet Joffre couldn't comprehend Amara's distaste to him. He was a Borgia and had been told since birth that his birth right was whatever he desired it to be.

Amara drove her mass up from its natural place so she could see Joffre herself. He looked like a puppy which had been struck for the first time. "I would marry to tomorrow if it were permitted to me." She answered his question honestly. She would marry Joffre. Since her birth all she had expected was to marry but she never had and although being only fourteen she was starting to wonder if she ever would in that hell called Rome. "However, I don't think your family would crave the idea." Rome is already aligned to Florence through her being there, there was no reason for her to wed Joffre. "Do you know why people marry, Joffre?"

"To create a union." It was a reaction that one would read from a book.

Once again, she let nature's pull force her back down as she relaxed her muscles. The rabble voices outside the walls rose and fell like a cascading river. She could block them out easily. Amara almost found them therapeutic as their voices carried on the breeze.

"Little brother." Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Juan Borgia. "Lady Medici." He added with a smirk which she took a distaste to as she turned her head.

"My Lord." She greeted with the familiar saying out of politeness not because it was true. It wasn't. Juan was a bastard at best and without title. As she twisted her head she was reminded that he was, of course, in charge of the papal army. He stood proudly in his armour as though it were a uniform that elevated him to a God like status.

"Would you like to attend training with me brother?" The invitation thrilled Joffre who jumped to his feet with ecstatic practice. Amara did not move, in any case, the invitation did not extend to her and the thought of sword fighting was more thrilling than spending any more time with her.

"Please." He begged although Amara did believe that she already knew he would let him. Juan was like her eldest brother in that sense, pawning one sibling against the other for his undying love and attention.

Amara was wearing a dress of simple green silk with a lack of beaded embroidery. She felt stupid for it now Juan was looking at her probably assessing her family's wealth as he draped an arm around Joffre's small shoulders.

"Is Cesare coming?" The sound of his name set Amara's teeth on edge.

"No." Juan snapped before letting a low chuckle erupt from his parted lips. "He is at a fitting for his new skirt."

Without another word Amara was left to her own devises again as she slumped into the soft floor again her lungs emptying of their contents. Juan's jest towards Cesare had wounded her slightly although she could not tell why. Amara rolled her eyes and forced the ideal thought from her mind concentrating on the bright sunlight instead.

* * *

A cruel and twisted smile played on Juan's lips as he stood proudly in his cloak. Amara stood next to him wearing a dress of blue silk, this time coated in jewels, she did not want to stand out in the crowd of finely dressed roman women. The women had taken a scornful approach to Amara over the past few months causing her to become somewhat of a recluse. They were perfectly friendly to her face with smiles and pleasant exchanges but there was something hidden behind their eyes which caused Amara to feel cold.

Still, regardless of the glances she was gaining she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief lifted from her heart which contrasted to the feelings of Cesare Borgia who was full of: despair. Amara had no idea of his thoughts though, as she watched the semi – circle of red enfold.

Cesare Borgia was becoming a cardinal and Amara had no need to be fearful of him any longer. He was a man of God, one below the Pope – his father.

She swayed slightly to the choral music that floated through the air high above. Everything told her that today was the perfect day. She was well rested and that morning she had woken without the rush of panic that normally invaded her disorientated drowsy morning state. Amara had her bearings after so long of them vanishing from her heart.

Joffre stood on her other side with an innocent, joyful smile as he watched his brother present himself to his father by kissing first his shoe and then the papal ring. He nudged her side playfully and Amara couldn't stop herself from turning to face him with a small smile. The corners of her mouth faltered ever so slightly when she noticed Juan glaring at them.

Then, Cesare Borgia turned towards them and something caught her eye that caused her marrow to run like ice through her.

He wasn't happy.

He wasn't happy in the slightest.

His facial muscles were tense. His fists were clenched into tight balls. His eyes were glossed over and dark. It was as though he were being forced into a world and life that he did not want, much as Amara was being forced into Rome.

A deep chuckle escaped Juan's lips, his sword jingling with movement as the cardinals sprawled themselves out the cream tiled stone floor. All happiness that Amara had felt that day was slowly being drained from her system and the cold temperatures inside the stone church were beginning to cause her skin to prickle with tiny bumps.

"He is in a fitting for his new skirt."

The words that Juan had spoken to her just days before echoed in her mind before Pope Alexander VI's firm and resounding voice commanded her attention:

"It is red, as a sign of the dignity of the order of cardinals, signifying that you are ready to act with fortitude." The pope drew himself up from his golden throne and walked slowly to the left side of the semi – circle. Next, he picked up a small long spoon from a pot being carried by a man in black cloths. "Red," He repeated more strongly this time while flicking the spoon like item at the soon to be cardinals. "As a sign," He started his pace dipping and flicking on a loop. "That you are willing to spill your blood for the increase of the Christian faith into which you have all been baptised." The smell of incense burned Amara's nostrils as it wafted behind the Pope. "Arise our brother cardinals."

As they rose the room was becoming more and more like a sauna for poor Amara. She tried to control her breathing as the sticky bodies around her stepped from left to right on their tired feet. The pope read his departing message for peace while she moved her eyes to the top of the high ceiling.

Amara believed that the words were meant to be inspiring but instead the prayer – to her – sounded like a curse.

* * *

"Have you heard my news?" Lucrezia Borgia tried to sound blasé with her words as she perched on her own plush bedding.

"No." Amara answered honestly. "What news do you have?"

Amara was excited at the prospect of new information. Lucrezia and herself had appeared to build a relationship entirely based on the act. Lucrezia was often a better source of knowledge than Amara, although the rarity of her tales from Florence seemed to make up for that fact.

"I'm to be married."

Amara De' Medici had only been truly jealous on a few occasions – this was one of those infrequencies. It wasn't the only feeling that was pulsing through her though, the other was pity, pity for herself. She hadn't thought to expand her friendships further than Lucrezia since she was younger than her and never far away. Nevertheless, at any moment Lucrezia was to be married and swept away from her.

Finally, Amara managed to splutter out a single word. "When?"

"I don't know."

"To whom then?"

"I don't know."

A silence settled between the two girls. It seeped into the room quietly and then all at once until the sound of flapping curtains broke their attention.

"Are you not pleased for me?" Lucrezia's voice nearly crumbled at the mere thought of her friend being upset. After all, she had already had to watch Cesare's sadness.

"Of course I am." Amara recovered from her previous shock with a sincere expression. "I swear, of course I am."

Lucrezia beamed. "Good."

Amara watched her rise to her feet and float across the room on the balls of them. She had crossed to the large window and pushed it wide. Lucrezia leaned forwards and hastily sucked the air into the lungs. Amara noticed, she held her breath often like that, normally in the company of her family.

"My love." Amara's throat began to scratch at the sound of the Pope's mistress entering the bedroom. She paused for a moment as her eyes caught the young Florentine girl before effortlessly moving forwards once more. "Amara."

Amara smiled at the greeting but was started by the use of her first name. She had believed until that moment that her name was in her possession and she was in control of who used it but even that was a lie.

"I have the sweetest news, my love." Giulia embraced the blissful Lucrezia's hands in her own.

"What is it?"

She hushed her secret as though it were how the world was to end. "The name of your husband."

Lucrezia's heart was ready to burst. Since she was a child she had practiced the vows of matrimony – often with one of her brothers – however she was never able to fill the name suitably. Now, she would be able to lie awake in her soft bed letting the name practice on her lip.

"It is Giovanni Sforza."

Amara's throat hitched abruptly. Sforza? The Medici's and the Sforza's were incompatible. She could not think of a time when someone in her family had sad one kind word towards them. She despised them and the whole of Milan as a result.

"Is he very old?" Lucrezia gazed up at her mentor for all the answers.

"Does love relate to age?" She demanded to know although the words were somehow soothing they sounded suspiciously like a warning.

"I am worried that my husband will not love me?" Lucrezia's new nature worried Amara. A sweet soul should never worry about not being loved.

"Does the Pope not love you?" Giulia called upon Lucrezia's love for her father taking tender strokes through her hair. "Then why would he marry you to someone who would not. Now, come, my love. Let us see you in your new gown."

La Bella's dress makers worked carefully to build up Lucrezia's gown. It was made of pure blue satin which Giulia had chosen. Grey lace, which Giulia had chosen. The creation of the dress was entirely in her father's mistress' hands and Amara disliked the factor.

"White is so dull." Giulia sighed feeling the fabric which Amara had seen as beautiful between her judgemental fingers and tossed it to the side.

"But surely a wedding dress should be white?" Lucrezia protested in her own sweet nature. She did not continue for too long before breaking out into a smile as Giulia began to circle her.

The mistress tapped the tips of Lucrezia's fingers and in the daintiest of movements she flicked it up in a dancing movement. Amara sat on the velvet sofa watching the couple slightly as they continued their ritual. "This dress is for your betrothal, my love." She inspected the slaves work indifferently before meeting eyes with Lucrezia with a grin. "And given the size of your dowry it should be made of solid gold."

* * *

"Open."

Amara De' Medici was so transfixed by the sight in front of her she barely noticed Lucrezia's giggling girlish gasp.

Not that she could blame her, Amara was holding in pure joyful shock that was bubbling inside of her stomach. The scene reminded her of home. It didn't look like her home, it was foreign to her in all respects but still it was exciting and artistic. She wished that she could paint the sight and keep it with her forever.

The red and gold velvet tent stretched across half of the Vatican gardens and was covered with cushions of similar fabrics and golden colours. Birds which Amara had never seen before made squawking noises over the noise of strumming strings. The scene was uprooted from a book and something Amara craved to witness in real life.

Lucrezia's childish giggle echoed as Djem began to speak:

"I wanted, my dear Lucrezia," He began to run forwards with outstretched arms to show off his little household. Meanwhile, Lucrezia caressed the hanging golden tassels with awe. "To give you a taste of my homeland, before the Lord Sforza plucks you from my view."

"Please, brother, sit." He gestured. Amara supposed that must have been her as well but was not certain until Cesare swooped his arms out after Juan allowing her to take the lead.

Djem clicked his fingers grandly and spoke: "Food."

"It's beautiful, Djem." Lucrezia said wistfully into Djem's chocolate coloured eyes. Finally, the servers returned with a tray of something that Amara did not recognise. Clearly worrying the same as Amara, Lucrezia inquired tentatively: "How do I eat it?"

"With your fingers," He laughed taking the sticky brown roll between his fingers and showing her, "Like this."

Djem managed to tear his eyes from Lucrezia's innocent frame to her brothers and Amara, his cheerful tone altered to a sincere nature. "I also wanted to thank the four of you for your kindness towards me."

Although Amara smiled she knew that the compliment was not really meant for her. She had only been alone with Djem once during his stay in the Vatican and that was to compare notes on being a guest to the Borgia household. Nevertheless, Amara found a way to graciously accept the commendation since she discovered herself liking Djem – a rarity in Rome.

"Are you leaving us soon?" Cesare's voice almost sounded hopeful.

"Oh, by the heavens, no!" Djem was horrified by such an idea as that along with the sweet girl to his right. "I dread the day I have to leave the bosom of your kindness. Our ways in the Courts of the Sultan can be cruel beyond your imaginations."

"I have a good imagination."

"My brother's predecessor had the eyes of all his male relatives plucked out and brought to him on a silver platter – all twenty two of them." Amara felt the urge to cover her mouth in shock in spite of this she repressed the impulse with curling her toes. She imagined the eyes of different shapes and colours all laying together in a pyramid construction in front of a greedy king with selfish power.

"That's forty four eyes." Lucrezia's perfect face fell in confusion. "But why on earth?"

"Because one who is blind could never take his place."

"Clever." Juan smirked.

Amara found herself unable to hold the swelling imaginings in her mind and spurted, "Cruel."

"So," Djem nodded at both parties before continuing. "To be among Christian souls, among the bosom of a family such as yours, that is fortune indeed."

"I'll drink to that."

"Wine?" The whispering voice started Amara as Cesare leaned into her ear.

"Or perhaps some of my spiced tea?" Djem's warm face inclined Amara to almost nod in acceptance before she was interrupted.

"Wine," Juan interrupted hastily before regaining himself with a grin. "I think."

Amara glanced from left to right at the two men surrounding her. Cesare Borgia didn't wait for an answer but surprisingly agreed with his brother pouring sloshing wine into her glass cup.

"It's a new blend." Cesare remarked. Amara brought the liquid to her lips and tested it. The wine didn't taste any different to anything she had drunk before at the Vatican but maybe her palate had become less susceptible to distinguish tastes in the past few months.

"It's wonderful." Amara complimented pressing her lips together and rubbing away the excess.

"And also," Djem announced suddenly and loudly. "To your future happiness, my dear Lucrezia."

"And I'll drink to that." Amara lifted the glass into the air towards her new friend before they all lifted the liquid to their lips and drank.

It was a little later on into the evening when Cesare and Djem had decided to play bowels that Amara was left alone with Lucrezia and Juan Borgia.

"Do you like the sound of your betrothed, sister?" Juan asked Lucrezia leaning against a flag pole with a sneer playing upon his face.

"Very much so." Lucrezia was pleased in even the deepest part of her heart. If Juan was discussing her marriage then it must have been one of great pride for the Borgia family and Giovanni Sforza must have been a grand man.

"And you," He turned his eye on Amara. "How do you feel about this blessed union?"

"I pray that God blesses it with his whole heart." She replied smoothly. God was often fallen back on in situations that she did not want to answer herself. After all, even a Borgia could not deny the work of God.

"You do?" He questioned.

"Yes," Amara blinked. "I do."

Juan's face turned an alarming shade of white in that moment. Amara wondered if she had crossed an invisible line and her heart began to pound in staccato beats from her chest. It wasn't until Lucrezia twisted her neck with more courage in front of her brother than Amara that she realised something had happened in the gardens.

"Djem?" Lucrezia's perplexed cry fell through the air.

Amara was transfixed as Djem fell down onto his knees in front of her guardian. She couldn't see from her angle fixed behind the fountain the boy choking on his own stomach lining as it travelling from his mouth in persistent splashes.

Lucrezia's feet dashed just in time to see her beloved Djem though. In Florence, Amara would have never been allowed to see a sight such as the one which unfolded before her. In Rome, nobody cared enough to stop her delicate feminine eyes from witnessing the horror as she followed Lucrezia's actions.

"Forgive me, Cardinal." Djem's breathing was staggered, his voice slow. "I have ruined your attire."

It was true. The Cardinal's clothes were coved in a new shade of red much like the one that he was supposed to spill for Christ. It gave Amara a terrifying thought that the colour was superficial and no brother of the Collage was willing to spill their blood for a God they supposedly loved.

'He's dying.' Amara thought. 'He was under the Vatican's care and he's dying.'

* * *

Amara had been unable to sleep that night. Djem's agony could be felt to her through the halls of the Vatican and had found their way into Lucrezia's rooms. Eventually, Amara couldn't stand the sinking feeling of her heart anymore. With one glance back at the sleeping girl she left the room.

Amara De' Medici made it through empty corridors until she finally turned and found a face that she hadn't anticipated.

"My Lady." Cesare greeted her with grey looking skin and tried eyes.

"My Lord." Amara did not stop walking assuming that – with everything settling on his mind – he would not wish to talk. Yet, he continued speaking forcing her slipper covered feet to a halt.

"How is my sister?" There was softness in his sincere tone which sparked something exotic inside of Amara. "You must be honest with me."

"She is asleep, Your Grace." It was the only truth she had which she could come to speak of.

"And you are not?"

Amara glanced at the marble floor before pinching her lips and finding a deep courage to speak. "May I be bold, your grace?"

"You must be to survive." He chuckled in his own amusement.

She inhaled a large block of air and spoke with the exhale. "It's the matter of Lucrezia's dowry."

"Yes." The subject was becoming an issue to Cesare but Amara had to know.

"Forgive me," She started being foolishly unaware of the fact she was in a very empty corridor with a man – a man of God – yet still a man. "But the money has not come from Florence."

"You are correct, Lady Medici." Cesare almost sounded impressed.

"Did my brother refuse?" She carried on, braver now.

"No," He paused thinking carefully about his next words. "We never inquired to take it."

Dong!

"It appears that God is calling." Cesare commented on the deafening chimes which interrupted them.

"Yes."

"What do you pray for?"

"For God to stop the spread of Marsh fever," She replied simply. It was after all the most reasonable thing to ask for, the last thing that Rome needed was an outbreak of a fatal disease. Amara noted Cesare's stern appearance and quickly added. "And also to pray for Djem's full recovery."

"Good night, Your Grace." Amara finally said after a few moments of silence.

"Good night, Lady Medici."

"Amara," She froze and turned gracefully. She was overly aware that it was the first time Cesare had used her Christian name and that she had never called him by his own. "Marsh fever: it is nothing for you to worry about." Cesare's smile was so clear and bright that Amara was almost inclined to believe him.

Alas, as Amara watched him stride away her head was full of nothing but worries.

**A/N: Hello, thank you for reading and hopefully reviewing. Please please review because it honestly does help me write. I tend to write straight after getting a review just because I get this surge of energy. To be honest, this chapter is pretty boring because it's really just placing Amara in the centre of Rome's web but it's going to get more exciting as it goes on.**

**Please ask me questions, tell me how you think Amara is going to develop. What you want to happen? Quick question - are we all Cesare Lucrezia shippers or not? I am :) **


	4. Lucrezia's Wedding

**Lucrezia's Wedding  
**

* * *

_**Mid April 1593**_

Silence was strange in the Papal court.

It was something that Amara had hated in Florence because silence meant something bad was afoot. However, silence in Rome was a gift. She had found that prayer, in the private Lady's chapel, was one of the only places that gave total silence.

So, her praying for Lucrezia's full recovery was not entirely selfless.

"Holy mother of God." Amara chanted. "Mary, mother of grace and mercy." Her rosary rolled between her finger and thumb. "Holy mother of God."

"My Lady." The shaking voice snapped Amara from her trance although she did not move from her kneeling position. "My Lady, Lucrezia Borgia requests your presence in her chambers."

Amara leaned over touching her forehead to the cold stone floor chanting a praising amen repeatedly. Eventually, she found the strength to drag her body up and turned towards the girl. The servant was dressed in a coarse brown fabric held together with an overlaying white sheet bodice.

"I must go then." Amara took quick practiced strides from the room before stopping herself to twist and face the young maid. "How does your lady fair?"

"We are assured it is not marsh fever."

"That's good." A smile crept across the young Medici's face. "That's very good indeed."

It was not a long walk from the chapel to the villa. It had grown familiar to the girl, almost as familiar as the walk to her chapel in Florence although that was in her own lands for young girls in Florence do not venture out alone. Amara did not think that girls did not venture in Rome alone, it was simply that no one noticed Amara's disappearances at those times as long as she returned.

"I will make it up to you." The Pope's desperate voice could be heard from outside Lucrezia's chambers. His holiness was not desperate for his last lost lover to understand and also for her to be quiet.

"_How_?" She exploded her voice breaking under the strain in angry sobs.

It was at this time of high emotion the Pope spotted his son's ward in the shadows. To his credit, he smiled as though Vannozza was not weeping and he had not just destroyed her heart with a mere few words.

"I apologise." She fumbled over the words while her feet did the same gathering speed into the nearby room. "I am so terribly sorry."

"Amara." The sweet hush greeted her with outstretched arms.

The Florentine girl could not help but grin. Her friend appeared to be making a better recovery every day. Although, when she stepped further into the golden draped room her heart became motionless as her eyes latched the same dark orbs of Cardinal Borgia.

Amara blinked, swallowed hard and made her way onto the plush bed. "Lucrezia."

"Remind me again," Her voice was thick from the threatening tears. "What my dear Djem died of?"

"Marsh fever." Amara was not lying exactly. No one had confirmed her suspicions that it was not Marsh fever that did not kill Djem but something more sinister that remained in the dark. "What else could it have been?"

"Cesare tells me what our Spanish blood protects us from such evils." She clasped her hands on Amara's with fear that she may be taken at any moment. "I do not wish for you to be taken like my dear Djem."

"I will not surrender to any bites." Amara brought the soft, pale hands to her pink lips. "If God does choose to take me I shall fight him with all my might and when I get to those pearly gates I'll cast him off, sending myself back to you for I cannot miss your wedding." She joked but the message was there and Lucrezia found comfort in the words leaning back on the soft pillows once more.

"Are weddings in Florence much like weddings of Rome?"

"No." Weddings in Florence were different, an event that she was used to. The bridegroom did not even sit with his bride but at separate tables, it made sense when they were to spend the rest of their mortal lives together.

She sighed in content. "Tell me of Florence again."

"Florence is calmer than Rome." She began a smile playing around her mouth. "In Florence, I slept till noon and would not wake for anything."

"Not even morning mass." Lucrezia giggled lightly.

"I did not know that it existed until I came here." This was not quite true but she wished to see her friend smile more openly.

Now perplexed she enquired, "There is no early morning mass?"

"No." Amara shook her head. "I imagine that it does exist, although I have never witnessed the event with my own eyes so I cannot be sure."

Lucrezia thought for a moment before continuing in what to say. "Do they have morning mass in Milan?"

"I fear that they do."

"Besides," Cesare interrupted with a smirk. "Your husband will not let you sleep in till noon."

"The fate gets worse and worse." His sister continued their running jest against her future husband since it made her brother smile and she believed there was not better reason to do anything in the world.

"I think you should sleep now, my love."

Amara did not hear the rough chuckle form from Cesare's throat as he escaped the confinement of the room.

* * *

"You look pale, Bella Lucrezia?" Guilia glanced from her lounging place watching her young protégé carefully.

"Yes." Lucrezia's voice was still small from exhaustion. "I have been ill."

Giulia returned to her sewing like the subject had become tiresome all of a sudden.

"My dusky friend inhabits my dreams." She spoke again trying to regain the attention and also enquire to some more advice from one more advanced in the field of men and dreams.

"Do not think so much of Djem, my dear." Although, the words were correct and wise the order annoyed Amara. Lucrezia could not help her dreams after all.

"He has a secret that he cannot speak of." Lucrezia pressed forcing Giulia to move her responsiveness once again. "His beautiful dark mouth opens but no sounds come out."

"In your dreams?" The voice cascaded to force the truth.

"And I have to kiss those lips to comfort them." Lucrezia speaks replaying her vision from her battered mind.

"Oh, dear!" Giulia tossed her sewing to one side, this was indeed more entertaining than most things would be with such a young girl.

"Is it permissible, Donna Giulia," Lucrezia paused to find the correct words. "To kiss a dead moor in your dreams?"

"All things are permissible in our dreams."

The two girls watched the women for some new words of wisdom. Amara could feel the scratching of irritation worm its way towards the surface once again. She searched her mind for something to help her but came up short.

"Look in the mirror, Lucrezia." One beauty showed the other to look into her reflection and teach how vanity could be a sin. "You yourself are dream enough for anyone."

"I could be happy in this dress." Lucrezia smiled forgetting about her Djem all at once. "But I will need lessons in kissing."

"Kissing?" Amara's stunned voice made an appearance.

"I will soon have to kiss the Lord Sforza." The prospect both scared and exhilarated the young girl who had heard of Lords and Ladies sharing romantic offers in sweet kisses of promise.

"Then come sit with me, my love." She pattered the sooth fabric to her side and smiled. "I shall teach you."

Lucrezia Borgia settled herself across from her father's mistress but Amara did not move from her window seat. She could be viewed from the Vatican's gardens but made no effort which would be an inclination that she had noticed.

"First," La Bella began her lessons, "There's a chaste kiss, full of promise, like this one."

The red haired women moved forward and kissed Lucrezia's cheek like a greeting.

Lucrezia was glad. "That's easy."

"Then," She sought for the most fruitful phrase. "There's the kiss of pleasure, full of pleasure which begins to promise."

"You know them all?"

"All of them," Giulia smiled to herself at a joke the two young girls could not understand. "And many more. Any women must."

"Do you know them all, Amara?" Lucrezia turned her attention away from Giulia.

"No, my love." Amara blushed with edge. "I do not."

Lucrezia sighed surrendering to Giulia's gaze again and commanded. "Show."

Giulia halted wondering how far would be too far. She could not risk angering the Pope but then decided that she was La Bella. La Bella who was respected and admired by all, especially the two girls in front of her. She propped forward closing the gap between them and embraced her lips to the young girls.

"Did my mother kiss my father thus?"

"I would hazard she did."

"And you," Lucrezia tilted her head slightly. "Do you kiss him thus now?"

The hush that ascended through the room was full of awkwardness. Giulia was almost shocked by the words before tranquilly regaining control of the situation beaming at Lucrezia.

"Let us adjust your dress."

"Amara," Lucrezia spun to face her, the jewels of her dress sparkling in the light. "Have you a new gown?"

"Not that I know of." She answered embarrassed. In Florence it did not matter much what she wore as no one outside of her family would see her. In Rome Amara constantly found the women of Rome battling over dresses and trinkets.

"My brother will have to order you one." Lucrezia drew herself up proudly. "I could not live if you did not have a beautiful dress for my wedding."

"No gown in the world could ever be a stunning as yours." She complimented.

To her credit, Lucrezia flushed a beautiful colour and looked down. "And your dress, Donna Giulia, what colour have you chosen?"

"I thought a gown of apricot." Giulia sounded indifferent yet every action was planned perfectly.

"My mother's favourite gown is apricot." Lucrezia uttered gingerly. "You must take care not to outshine her."

"I'm afraid there's not possibility of that." Giulia gave a hard tug on Lucrezia's sleeve and began to tie.

"What do you mean? You have advised her already?" She sounded excited at the prospect of her two mentors getting on so well.

"You haven't heard?" Giulia replied sheepishly.

"Another secret." Lucrezia sighed turning her face from her. "I'm tired of secrets."

"It is no secret."

Lucrezia spun. "Tell me then; what have I not heard?"

"Your mother is not coming to your wedding."

"What?" Amara's ears must have deceived her. No father would do such a thing, surely. Not even the Pope of Rome.

"Well that is silly, Giulia Farnese," Lucrezia's sugar filled scold echoed in the air. "Of course she's coming."

"I'm afraid your father has deemed it otherwise." Giulia's voice had not left its calm, collected, planned regiment the entire time she was speaking.

"My," Lucrezia could not let the words into her mind. It didn't make any sense no matter how many guesses she took. "My father he would never."

"I'm afraid."

"I must speak to him of this." Lucrezia fled from the room letting her once important dress be forgotton.

"She will recover." Giulia smoothly crouched to scoop the golden sleeve into her own care, she revolved towards Amara with a smile. "Shall we plan your gown?"

"No." She wasn't aware of how stern her tone would come out through a clenched jaw. If she were being perfectly frank she couldn't even hear herself but the look on La Bella's face told her of offence. So she added with a smile. "Thank you"

Amara twisted on her heel stalking from the room and leaving Giulia Farnese with it. It did not take her long to find the dear Lucrezia. She was standing in front of the Holy Father in clear distress shouting:

"But I am learning, Holy father!" Amara felt like an intruder. She was not sure if a girl who was not of Borgia lineage would be allowed in the Papal rooms. A strange sense of calming relief washed over her as Cesare Borgia beckoned her in to stand by him even if his face did not change from its distressed state. Amara saw it wise to follow orders calmly slipping behind the arguing couple. "She was once what they call a courtesan and you are the Pope of Rome. But you loved her once, as I do now, and I will have my mother at my wedding day."

"Come, sis," Cesare darted around the table with quick strides. His father had had enough, a blind man could see that. "Let us talk of these things elsewhere."

"Please Holy Father!" Lucrezia began to chase the man, begging as only a daughter can. "I need you both there. My mother, and my father."

Cesare stood, heart beating and bleeding for his little sister. Amara felt it, felt the pain. There was so much pain radiating from the room and yet the man who had caused it saw fit to flee. He held out in expectation of his little sister but she had different views.

"Amara!" She wept throwing herself into the Medici girl's open arms.

"Lucrezia." She whispered into the golden curls.

The three members of noble families stayed like that for a while. Each thinking of the others plight until the youngest broke out in an angry burst.

"Did you know?" She turned to her elder brother. "Brother, did you know of this?"

"Our Father had mentioned it."

"You promised you would never lie to me."

"I didn't lie." His voice was strained. Lucrezia turned away into her friend's chest once more. "Sis, please, there is nothing to be done."

Amara's grip on Lucrezia's body became limp and the girl allowed herself to be swapped into the arms of Cesare Borgia. It was in that familiar grip she broke fully in sobs until she was just too drained do anything but sleep.

"You must make your father see reason." Amara couldn't stand the silence any longer. She couldn't stand another family tearing itself apart. The Medici's were the same, the Medici's seemed to care more about money than family - after all, it was money that ran through their veins.

"Perhaps _my_ father would see it," He spoke brushing a stray hair from his sister's head. "But the _Holy_ Father will not."

"You must make him then." She pressed.

"It's impossible." He dismissed.

"Nothing is impossible; not really." She met his eye line in a clash of green. "You must speak with him at least."

"Why should you care so much?"

"My mother lies in stone." Amara broke in an outburst of aggravation. "Therefore I, of all people, understand what it feels like to have your own mother barred from your wedding."

* * *

_**May 1493**_

"I intrude," Amara rambled looking desperately for an escape. "I'm terribly sorry."

"No, no. You must come in." He insisted. "May I introduce," He wafted her magnificently into the room without haste. "The most gracious and beloved Lady Amara Alessandra Liliana de' Medici of Florence." He extended every Italian syllable until her name sounded like a fairy tale. "My _Lady_, this is Theo, my mother's husband – the farmer."

"I must admit I have little knowledge in farm land." Amara uncomfortably took her place across from the new man.

"Oh," Cesare leaned back in his own chair next to Theo with ease. "Then you must educate her." He raised the jug high letting the red grapes fumble into the shepherd's goblet. "Do you have shepherds on your hills, Theo?"

"Indeed, your –" There was a pause as Theo tried to remain calm, the phrase fell from his lips uncomfortably. "Eminence."

"Do they play the pipes of Pan, as in Virgil's Georgics?" Amara knew the tales from her younger years but still felt anxious at the Cardinals mentioning of them. "Do they fall in love with shepherdesses?"

"They sleep on the bare hillside." It didn't sound very romantic to Amara. She thought that a poor life would be simpler, it always was in the tales she was told as a child. "In summer, they scorch. In winter, they freeze. It is _not _a life to be envied." She didn't disagree but leaned forwards to take a large gulp of wine.

Amara was concentrating so hard on the wine in front of her she missed the Latin words begin addressed to the Cardinal's mother's husband.

"You must translate for me, your Eminence. I am a poor farmer."

"Death," He paused. Amara wasn't sure if he were assessing his next words or tormenting his prey. "Also is in paradise."

"Cesare!" Vannozza exploded to scold her son.

"I merely quote, mother. From the great poet, Virgil." Cesare played innocence well but his smirk betrayed him. "But speaking of paradise, how is our betrothed one, Amara de' Medici?" Although she was feeling hot already under the new gaze of Cesare Borgia it was phenomenal. "She is ours, isn't she? For we are the only two who seem to care about her leaving. It is a bond we share."

"She sleeps soundly now." Amara smiled politely.

"I suppose we must let her rest then." Cesare slumped back into his chair almost upset. "Amara tell me, what do you know of shepherds?"

Amara didn't know what to say. She couldn't say a thing without insulting someone sitting at the table. "I know that we are Jesus' flock. Many courageous men in the bible were shepherds."

"Ah," Cesare shook his head. "You do not know much then. You have been slacking in your teachings, Theo." He jested. "Now, you must tell the lady of sheep," Cesare shrugged. "Or goats."

"Please," Amara broke the room that remained in a limbo of silence bar the crackling fire. "Do excuse me but I find myself becoming quite tired." She pushed herself back from the oak table.

Cesare shot up with a loud scraping of his chair. "I'll escort you to your chambers."

"That really won't be necessary." She shook her head. "My Lord."

"No." He pressed. "I insist."

Without the cracking fire the corridors silence was much worse than that of the unnerving dinner. Their steps echoed against the stone flooring. Amara found herself counting her paces simply to have something to do.

"Are you disappointed in me, Amara?" Cesare finally broke the silence.

Startled, Amara didn't answer for a moment of two. "Should I find reason to be?"

He smiled. "You do not think I was cruel?"

"I think you are distraught." She whispered.

"Distraught?" Cesare paused his footing. "Please, enlighten me."

Comprehending what she had done Amara stopped herself from continuing. However, she soon realised that this would be harder than imagined – she had to say something. "I do not wish to cause offence, Your Grace."

"You do not cause offence, my lady." Cesare reassured her with a grin. "Nor will you, please enlighten me."

"You're a Cardinal," She started beads of sweat beginning to develop on her body. "I don't believe you wish to be one."

"How do you know I did not dream of becoming cardinal?" Cesare jested flamboyantly.

Amara laughed. "Do people dream of becoming cardinals?"

Cesare Borgia joined the sweet sound and the two stood for a while like friends.

"What else?" Cesare wondered now.

"There is also Lucrezia."

The cold night's darkness spread between the two at the mention of a girl. "What of Lucrezia?"

"She's leaving." Amara tried not to stutter. "And it's breaking your heart."

"And how do you know all this?" Cesare said tensely.

"Because it's breaking mine too." She admitted, even to herself. "So, I cannot be disappointed in you."

The two returned to silence. Cesare finding it hard to find a string of clear words in his mind finally managed to regain enough sense to speak his mind:

"This is Lucrezia's chamber."

Amara's neck swiveled to stare at the door. "I promised that I would call upon her while she slept." Her eyes trailed back and met a clash of brown. "Good night, Your Eminence."

"Good night, Amara."

Amara turned in the darkness unable to see more than a few inches before her and even then there was no way of tracing the outline of any object but the bed. She nestled herself in the golden sheets, the feathered pillows losing their plumpness at the weight of her head.

"Hmmm." A soft hum came from the slumbering blonde beauty.

"It is only I, my love." Amara informed.

"Amara." A small smile played on her peach coloured lips, her thick eyelashes did not leave their closed resting position on her pale cheek. "You would not lie to me?"

"Of course not."

"And my brother," Lucrezia timidly ventured. "He would never lie to me either."

"I believe it would break his heart to do so."

"Yet," She inhaled sharply. "He did not tell me of my mother."

"Perhaps he did not wish to harm you."

"It seems like everybody knows everything before I do. It tires me so."

"Would you like to know one of my secrets?" Amara revolved slowly onto her front seeing her friend better. "Something that nobody else here in Rome knows."

"Do tell." Lucrezia stirred her head closer so her breath hit Amara's features. "But whisper it, in case anyone else is to hear."

"I despise sleeping alone." Amara whispered with a sincere face. "I simply cannot bring myself to do it."

"How do you sleep here in Rome?" A concern Lucrezia enquired.

"Terribly." She smiled causing both of the girls to giggle playfully.

Lucrezia clasped a hold of Amara's palm joyfully. "Then you must stay with me, Donna Amara."

"I would have it no other way."

* * *

_**June 1493**_

Amara De' Medici's bed went untouched for weeks. Every night the two Madonna's would follow a ritual of crawling into the silken sheets together away from the hot black Italian night.

Lucrezia Borgia even found that she slept better with the sweet company of a girl than alone. It reminded her of the boiling nights inside her nursery when she found herself somehow wrapped in the arms of her brother, Giovanni after nightmares haunted her mind. Of course, when Giovanni left for the church everything changed quite dramatically.

Still, the days and nights went by quickly for the two girls – too quickly. Although the wedding had constantly been postponed from April to May, suddenly June 12th arrived before either girls were fully prepared for the events that the day would enfold. However, God had blessed it with the brightest sunshine which woke Amara from her untroubled sleep as it graced her features.

"Lucrezia…"

Amara's blonde haired companion stirred but did not wake.

"Lucrezia, it's your wedding day." The whisper swirled into Lucrezia's head.

"My wedding day?" She repeated, her lips finding no movement.

"Yes."

"Tonight I will sleep in the Lord Sforza's bed." Lucrezia's concern was muffled by her silk pillow.

Amara stirred to soothe her with gentle strokes on her golden locks. "You are not traveling to Milan until tomorrow."

"But the Lord Sforza will be in my bed tonight." Lucrezia huffed, she did not sound as excited today as the prospect was at other times. "I will have to kiss him. I have such fears of kissing."

"Cesare would not let anything bad happen to you, my sweet."

"My brother will not be there with me though." She sounded almost sad about the fact as though she would have preferred her brother to take the place of the Lord Sforza.

"Every person on the face of this earth knows how your brother cares for you, that, my love, includes your future husband. He would have to be mad to do anything except adore you."

"I will miss you, Amara De' Medici."

The thought of one girl leaving the other left a distressed pinching on their hearts.

"And I you, Lucrezia Borgia."

The wedding went very much as planned.

Lucrezia was the most outstanding gift any man had ever received and all those present knew it. From Amara's prime seat she could witness the whole affair in comfort. It reminded her of the weddings her siblings held inside the Santa Maria del Fiore. She hadn't seen Maria after her wedding that idea now churned over in her head.

"She is exquisite." A high class voice expressed into Amara De' Medici's ear and she found herself smiling.

"I should have known you would have been close by."

At any other time in her life Amara would have – as always – been slightly disappointed to see Machiavelli. He was in her eyes impossible to predict and to understand. It was something she had learnt at a young age when her sister Maria would only trust him in council talk but never express her entire feeling to him. Machiavelli could play the wisest man on earth a fool and he was the wisest man.

"How have you faired in Rome?" He began his romp for politics.

"Why don't you enlighten me?" She referred to his eyes with a spark in her own.

"You have become outspoken in your time away."

Amara perplexed over the new knowledge as it tossed in her head. "I have?"

"Yes."

"Did your spies tell you that?" She smiled. "Does Florence think me bold?"

"Florence thinks many things." Machiavelli continued.

"I do not believe that this exchange is fair, Machiavelli." Amara sighed glancing to her right and noticing that more people were taking notice of her than usual. "I shall answer one of your questions when you have answered one of mine."

The two Florentines stared at each other with a new found sense of appreciation. They were not playing games – or perhaps they were but one with a simple set of rules. Amara found herself with the new logic of boldness that although developed in Rome it was only in safe company of home she would dare to voice it.

"Savonarola," The name must have captured some attention. "Is he a real threat to Florence?"

Machiavelli opened his mouth but Amara interrupted before any noise could erupt.

"Do not lie to me." She was stern. "I will know if you do so."

"Yes." The truth stung her heart. "If your brother stands alone.

Amara swore with an oath of confidence. "Then I will make sure he does not."

"Do you know how to achieve that aim?"

"I…" Amara trailed for she had no idea how such a thing was achieved.

"Make sure the church is on your side." His voice is so sincere there is no doubt that it was the only way to achieve the desired outcome. "See that the Borgia family perceives our outcomes mutual."

"I will." This oath was more realistic and far less dramatic. It was something which Machiavelli enjoyed – it was far more honest.

"Then we should speak of sweeter things and my real reasoning for flocking to this God forsaken place."

Amara bit back a laugh. "Do you not enjoy Rome?"

"It's hideous but we must all smile and endure."

"You wish to speak of Lucrezia's wedding then?"

"The wedding? No!" He barked. "I come bearing gifts – or one gift." He held a leather box towards the young girl who pursed her lips in an attempt to calm the excitement attacking her nerves. "From your brother in regards of your birthday."

Amara's eyes travelled to the wrinkled face of her ambassador. Her birthday was so long ago and she was closer to fifteen now than fourteen. Still, she was noble and accepted with a refinement fitting for such a title. "Thank you."

The rough material came lose in her fingers with a light _popping_ sound to reveal a circular pearl holding a cluster of blue sapphires that captured the light as she examined them between her fingertips.

"They're beautiful." She breathed.

"And expensive."

"The perfect Medici gift." Amara laughed on the edge of hysteria. Was she the perfect Medici gift? A gift from Medici to Borgia? "You must thank my brother."

"I shall."

"Oh," She grinned rapidly remembering that there must be a new Medici in the world by now. "And congratulate him on the birth of his first child. A boy I hope."

"It was a boy."

"Was?" Amara trembled cautiously on the subject.

"I am afraid that the child did not live."

"How terrible." Amara felt awash rush over her body. It was cold and left her drained. How could something so important happen and she not hear of it? How could that be possible?

"Indeed." Machiavelli did not sound like the subject was one he was interested in discussing further. Amara wondered why? Surely her brother would have wished to tell her?

Of course, Amara did not understand that the death of a son would show weakness. God had not blessed their union and with the pressures on Florence that was not a good sign.

"You will accompany me to the aftermath of a Roman wedding I hope." As she spoke she realised that her arms had been hanging by her sides and not been linked to Machiavelli's. She supposed that the sight must have looked odd to everyone else. The cold Florentines – maybe people thought that they were not on the best of terms?

"No." Amara almost stumbled, she had not expected the denial to sting.

She gasped for breath. "But how will you convince Rome to help Florence without talking to Rome? I will introduce you to Cesare Borgia myself – or even the Pope of Rome."

"I cannot do that."

"Then who?"

Machiavelli locked his eyes into Amaras, a skill he possessed and probably learnt observing countless hunting expeditions. "My Florentine Ambassador."

It took Amara a moment to comprehend that it was her and not some other creature he spoke of. "I cannot do that."

"We'll see." He said calmly and entered his carriage leaving the newly dubbed – highly unexperienced – Florentine Ambassador to her own.

* * *

"My brother's choice in gowns is wonderful." Juan lifted the glass jug containing wine high into the air and let it pour down into Amara's goblet.

"I am most thankful for the gift."

"Blue?" Juan rolled the colour in his mouth. "To remind you of home?"

"Perhaps." Amara was distracted somewhat by the events that were unfolding around her.

"When you first arrived you wore purple." He lifted the golden cup to his lips to the test the flavour. "I believed that you would be a fire beacon ready to set the whole of Rome alight."

"Can one colour spark such hopes?"

Juan winked. "Purple is the colour of royalty."

"But Italy has no king." She explained.

"Is there such as thing as Italy?"

"I am Italian."

"And I a Spaniard." He retorted.

"How sad for you." Amara's voice fell a little.

"Why?" Juan controlled his snap as best he could which wasn't very much at all.

"Because _you_ cannot wear purple."

Amara wasn't sure if her small insult towards him had gone unnoticed or if he simply didn't care to respond. Juan turned his face from her and until everyone else did the same with a small commotion she did not notice the two new arrivals at the celebration.

She could not hear what was being exchanged between the Cardinal Borgia and his mother but whatever the predicament it kept all eyes attention. While people stretched to see what the couple were wearing or to simply gawk at the following spectacle, Amara watched Cesare's face and came to the solid conclusion that he would not break.

"I'm afraid I must insist." The tone commanded respect, although it was meant for his mother, Amara could not help but wonder if the words were in fact intended towards another parent. Amara dragged her eyes from Cesare and towards the Pope. "And I imagine His Holiness, the Pope, would insist too."

The rest of the sheep followed Amara's original idea and observed the Pope for an answer. It took a moment to come around but he smiled eventually, accepting his former mistress's invitation.

With the beat and music filling the room once again all commotion fled the room and died.

"I bet that you cannot beat our weddings for entertainment."

"I wouldn't underestimate my homeland so." Amara jested bringing the cool metal to her lips.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He grinned. "Nor would I underestimate Lady Isabella over there."

"Who?"

Juan found the innocence in Amara amusing. He seized her shoulders with both hands, twisting her to face a crowd of guests. She concentrated in on a petite blonde girl whose focused glare twitched at herself and Juan.

"Will you wish me luck, Madame?" Juan smirked.

"Of course."

Although the answer was smooth Amara was sure she didn't know what luck she was giving. It can be certain that she did not understand the graphic nature that Juan wished from Lady Isabella. At most she was sure that he would simply wish to dance, because what else could a couple do unmarried?

* * *

The air had become thick with smoke and the atmosphere claustrophobic after that encounter. So when the dancing had stopped and the play begun Amara found the opportunity to search for much clearer oxygen.

It was in one of the many corridors that she found refuge in that Amara witnessed the ceremonial bringing of the bride to her bedchambers. She was prepared for embarrassment at such an occasion but found instead that it was simply her brother doing the task.

When Cesare emerged, a few minutes later, he greeted the young lady. "Little Amara De' Medici, what brings you to the papal corridors so late at night?" When she did not answer he continued. "Was the play not to your liking?" She sustained her silence. "I suppose it must be over now." With a dramatic heavy sigh Cesare finally leaned over the same bannister as Amara. "I cannot help but feel that something may be weighing upon your conscience?"

"Lucrezia voiced her fears to me this morning." Amara found her ability to speak was small.

"Fears?" Although he was trying to remain calm his clenched jaw made his voice and appearance not so.

"Petty things at most – about her dress, her hair, her future husbands face."

"Things that all girls worry over on the morning of their wedding." He was still tense no matter how much the words wanted to soothe him.

"She worried about her wedding night." Amara tried to control her blush at the words but was glad to be hidden in darkness.

"That," Cesare's grip tightened around the wooden barrier. "Is not such a petty matter."

"And yet you are the one who delivered her to her marital bed." Amara giggled without finding any humour in her comment.

"And you think that I wanted to."

"No." She exclaimed. "Piero, my brother, his child died and nobody informed me." Amara began laughing again somewhat uncontrollably.

Cesare turned to face her, finding the sight fascinating. "How much wine have you drank?"

"Are you telling me I'm intoxicated?"

"Answer me." His new tone was stern.

"I don't know." Amara shut her eyes trying to remember. "Juan poured wine for everyone."

"If Juan was in charge, I'm surprised you're still standing." He chuckled slowly before gathering himself again. "Perhaps it's past your bedtime."

"Perhaps." Amara began her pace but found that placing one foot in front of the other was a harder task than first anticipated. She swayed unsteadily from one foot to the other until the adventure overcame her and she tumbled down.

It was upon the freezing tiles that Amara's hot emotions broke from their tethers and escaped.

She did not hear the Cardinal's words as he knelt beside her so Amara could never repeat them again. Growing increasingly aware of his presence she slowly turned her gaze to meet his.

"Do families love each other?" She whispered to the dark asking God or one of the angels to answer her question.

"Yes." Cesare swore firmly. "Yes, My… _yes_."

"I do believe that you love your sister." She replied weakly.

"I do."

"If it were just you and no other who decided the fate of Lucrezia," She paused. "Would you marry her to Milan?"

Cesare swallowed hard before resting on his final thought. "No."

"My brother would have." Amara smiled at the thought of Piero ever behaving in such a conduct of pure love. "I could set myself on fire and I do not believe my brother would notice the flames."

There was silence between the pair for a moment before Cesare calmly offered his hand to the young Medici.

Amara calmly placed her hand into his palm, accepting his offer.

"I would." She was standing now, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist. "I would notice."

"If I ask you something," She did not need to raise her voice above a whisper. "Do you promise to be truthful?"

"It depends what you ask."

"Am I a guest here?" She inquired steadily. "Am I guest here or am I a prisoner?"

"Oh, Little Medici," He breathed. "I am very much afraid that you are something else entirely."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who favourited, reviewed and followed. I know this story comes in pieces but it honestly takes forever to write. If you follow my tumblr: marquess-de-borgia I am going to post clips of chapters on there to show everyone that I'm writing. Also I'm there if you want to talk to me because I get super lonely sometimes on tumblr. Thank you again :) This chapter is so very very very long it's mental.**

\- Anna


	5. The Borgias in Love

_**July 1593**_

Since Lucrezia's departure from Rome Amara had found the city tedious. She was barely invited to anything interesting and had instead taken to visiting the chapel several times a day to endure her new situation. It was as though she had only just arrived in the Holy city instead of having been there for almost ten months.

In bed, feeling like the world was entirely against her and wanting nothing more than to be home in her own covers, Amara stretched upwards under her pillow. She had expected to find the cold crispness of the sheets but instead felt a rough material. Her hand retracted withdrawing a letter. Amara turned it over searching for some writing that would make sense of her but there was nothing.

Then she saw it.

A shield, a coat of arms she recognised very well. It was her own after all.

Her fingers moved to rip the wax closing apart and with a hammering heart beat she read:

'_We are doing nothing.'_

Amara's eyes examined the paper frantically for some other indication to what the words could mean but there was nothing. No stamps or letters or numbers.

_Nothing_.

Amara wondered what she should do with it for a moment. She gaped at the yellow page and tried to think. It was then that she remembered what her mother would do with all letters which her family sent her.

The flames burned high in a blend of golden orange. Amara was still watching the letter, waiting for some new sort kind of information to magically appear. Finally, she came to the conclusion that there was no other way. With a single flick of her wrist the letter was ablaze and Amara observed until it was left unrecognisable.

* * *

The dry heat of Rome was unbearable the morning Amara went to pray. She wondered what else she could have to pray for since she had been begging God for days and was finding herself thin on the topic.

Her knees were becoming rough on the smooth cold floor; hands clasped Amara began to whisper.

"God help the unfortunate. God help those who need courage. Please reveal your heavenly light to them." She paused, looked up and pleaded. "God help Florence. I beseech you to send me an advocate. I implore you help me."

Amara closed her eyes with dread in her system. She feared that she may begin to cry if she stayed there a moment longer and after her encounter with Cesare at Lucrezia's wedding it was something she could not afford. Amara crossed herself, rose, and bowed to the window steaming with rays of coloured light.

"Little Medici." The Cardinal greeted, boldly smirking in his red robes.

"Cardinal." Amara forced a smile moving gracefully towards and she had hoped past him.

"What were you praying for?" He enquired with a small pout while beginning to walk along side of her through the church.

That was an easy question to respond to. "For those less fortunate than I."

"Do you count yourself as fortunate?" There was something in his voice that suggested it was a view that he did not share.

"There are those less so than us." Realising her tone may have sounded offensive Amara began to panic. Her mouth quickly formed the polite phrase of "Your Eminence" while her eyes followed the train of diamonds that graced the floor.

"Of course," Cesare was not frustrated by her words or insulted. She was right, there were those who were less fortunate in the world but that did not mean that he was not himself fortunate because he triumphed over others. Even the silent girl next to him was not fortunate regardless of the fortune she held. "Have you heard from your family recently?"

"Yes." Amara breathed softly. She didn't know how to answer a question that was innocent and yet dangerous all at once. "I received a letter quite recently."

"And what was in this letter?" The Cardinal was doing his best to sound relaxed and impartial to the answer but there was something that lay behind his casual tone which worried Amara.

"My brother is expecting a second child." Although it had not been revealed to her in a letter and through court gossip instead. The truth was there and anyhow a letter had been sent through just a week before to confirm the news. "To be born in September."

"That is good news." He smiled in the way a wolf would smile upon seeing its supper.

Amara laughed lightly with a smirk drawn on her face. "Should I believe you, Cardinal?"

"Perhaps not." He chuckled gazing up at the high building. He then spoke out clearly and without conviction. "I am traveling to your fair Florence though. I leave later today."

Amara heart began to quicken its pace. She did not know what to say or do. Machiavelli had left her in charge of securing the Borgias' role in her homelands future however the task was proving to be a difficult one. She took a large breath and decided to speak. "May I offer you some advice?"

"You do not have to ask." He informed her openly.

"Speak to Machiavelli and only Machiavelli."

Cesare did not answer at first instead he waited for a moment trying to make sense of the words. "Not your brother then."

"No." Amara shook her head slowly. "My brother follows my father's rule. My father listened to Machiavelli; my brother will do anything that he asks."

Amara turned her head to catch the eye of the Cardinal. With a flush rising over her face she returned her gaze to her walking feet on the floor. "I must say I thought that you would fight me more on this."

"Why would I fight you?" She looked at him as though he held the power of life and death in his hand.

"I imagined that you would have made a sceptical of yourself and demanded very dramatically to be returned at once to your homeland." She could see the glint in his dark eyes and knew that he was jesting with her. "Is that not what you want?"

"I want my homeland to be safe and my family to be happy. The best way to do that is by helping my fair Florence." She used his nickname of her land rather well. "You are going to save Florence are you not?"

The Cardinal swallowed when meeting the eyes of the Little Medici girl. "That is what we must hope for."

* * *

**_Early August 1593_**

"Lady Medici."

Amara shot up from her bed with warm blood rapidly becoming cold as it went pumping through her veins. Since her arrival in Rome there was one man – if he could be called that – which Amara had avoided with all her might. Micheletto Corella.

"Yes." She answered with a quiet starkness.

"My master would like you to meet him in the stables." His voice was always so soft, that terrifying man servant of Cesare's. Why would a Cardinal let such an ugly, disfigured and scared creature into his home?

"Yes." Amara managed to choke out.

A silence descended on the room. Amara clasped her lips together and waited. She waited for him to leave but after a few minute when her eyes reached the door again he was still there.

"My master would like me to escort you there." Micheletto continued to stand by the open door. He had not taken one step into her bedrooms threshold.

"Of course." She placed her feet on the ground and pushed the rest of her body upwards. "Thank you."

The walk to the stables was soundless. It was hard not to notice how the staring people parted as they saw the odd pair together. She also saw how Micheletto's face did not move from the same calm position when people surveyed them. For one second Amara felt something at his posture, it felt surprisingly like jealously or perhaps respect.

"Little Medici." The Cardinal appeared to be more casual than normal in a simple white shirt and black trousers.

Amara – who had not been to the stables yet – was slightly on edge in her new surroundings. "Cardinal."

He watched her movements for a few seconds before ordering over the top of her head. "You can go, Micheletto."

Amara could only slightly hear the footsteps of the terrifying man as he removed himself from their presence. The thought of those silent steps worried her just as his small eyes did. There was something that caused her body to shake in fear when he was around, that Micheletto Corolla. He was a being entirely against God's law.

"I have a surprise for you." Amara wondered if he had been speaking for a while and she had only just caught him.

"Really?" She asked him dazedly.

"You are fourteen." Amara noted that the Cardinal was very good at recalling the simple facts to her. He often did it to avoid explaining everything of importance.

"Yes." She confirmed her name with a smirking confidence.

"You were only thirteen when you arrived." Cesare continued like Machiavelli would have, he enjoyed facts and numbers, Cesare didn't seem like someone who would.

"Yes." The confidence that she had was slowly fading away. This was starting to sound horrifically like the conversation her brother had had with her sister before shipping her away to be married. It was a wish that Amara had wanted once upon a time, something she had expected from life but the thought of being dragged away once again from a place she was learning to call home frazzled her.

"I have a gift for your birthday." There was a quite reassuring in his tone which was most likely the result of Amara's bloodless face.

"Oh."

Cesare smiled taking a large step to the left to show her something or someone she thought was lost forever. "He may be a little tired from the trip but I can guarantee he is in one piece."

Amara gasped through her beaming smile before laughing loudly causing many of the animals to whinny.

"Averardo." She had named the black horse after the brave knight who defeated a monster which plagued the town of Mugello. He managed to defeat the beast in only seven blows and managed to found the town of Florence simultaneously. The knight also gave the Medici's their own insignia, a shield with seven circular blows in it, the amount of blows it had taken to kill the creature. "You brought me, Averardo?"

"Yes." He was leaning against the timber framed door watching her carefully.

"But how?" Amara was astounded both at the shocking gift and the bursting feeling that was forming in her chest.

"Machiavelli informed me of your bond with the animal." He took a step forward to pat Averardo. "Was he correct in his assumptions?"

"Yes." She smiled as the black coloured horse nuzzled into her side. "Thank you."

"I'm sure you would love to take him out." Cesare assumed rubbing the creature down with his hand.

"Yes," Amara caressed Averardo between his eyes and remembered the first time she had done it just one year before when her Father had presented her with the beautiful three year old animal. "But he's travelled very far and I'm sure he would like to rest."

"Then rest he shall." Cesare began to march away from Amara but broke as if he had hit an invisible wall. Then, with a singular movement he twisted on his heel towards face her. "I am busy at the moment but perhaps we could ride out together in the next week or so? I will show you the best that Rome has to offer and we may compare it to Florence."

"Of course." She had hoped to remain composed however her face betrayed her as it composed itself into a smile.

"Very well." This time when Cesare walked he did not stop.

* * *

It was late when the first rainfall of summer hit Rome and the constant repetition of rain had driven Amara from her bed.

It was hard enough sleeping lately, ever since Lucrezia had left for Milan.

That is how Amara De' Medici ended up sitting next to the lit fire during the early hours of the morning waiting to watch the sunrise. At least, she was until a cold blast of wind travelled through the room and her thin nightgown.

Her neck whipped around quickly to see the intruder.

Cesare was standing, staring at her illuminated presence from the darkness of the corridor. Amara went to stand forgetting the book on her lap which went clattering to the stone ground.

"Cardinal?"

It took him a moment but he turned his head to see the girl standing in the fires light. He was almost aware of the way she moved with small steps out of the warmth and into the cold dark.

"Little Medici." He greeted as she reached him.

"You're trembling." There was something different in the Cardinal, something Amara didn't want to discover. "Come to the fire."

Amara found his freezing fingers and began to pull him towards the warm glow. He was wet, from the rain she supposed but why go out in the rain?

"You'll catch your death." She scolded him as he found his way into the velvet chair. Amara knelt in front of him trying to find some hint of recognition on his face but discovered nothing. It wasn't until the young Cardinal glanced up that the flames illuminated his face allowing her to gain full sight of his tear stained face. Perplex Amara sucked the air harshly between her open lips. He didn't appear to be sad yet the water on his face signified that he must have been.

"Why are you awake so late?" He whispered.

"I couldn't sleep." She reasoned quietly.

"What were you doing then?" The Cardinal smiled. "Were you plotting my downfall?"

Amara blushed and was about to deny any involvement in anything scandalous or traitorous when Cesare's face fell and his hand stretched grazing her skirt in the process of picking up the leather bound book. Staring down at the cross imprint he laughed but the sound was without humour.

"You were reading." He clarified. "You were reading the bible."

"Yes."

"Your own?" He turned the object over in his hand as though it were foreign to him.

"My mothers." Amara felt uneasy to see the beloved pages in someone else's hands.

Cesare turned it over once more before placing it carefully back into her hands. He was silent for a moment, they both were. Staying in the same position, their hands only separated by the holy tale between them, Cesare moved his gaze to her face and softly spoke. "You should go to bed, Little Medici."

As though she had been struck with lighting Amara withdrew herself from the Cardinal. "Yes. Good night, Your Eminence."

It was not until she was into the corridor Amara heard the words: "Good night, Little Medici" being spoken to the darkness of night.

* * *

**A/N: So I hate this chapter with a passion mostly because I couldn't work out how to fit Amara into the chapter and then it was too short. The whole thing doesn't read well and it's horrid but I was sick of staring at it in my documents so I decided to publish it. I hope it wasn't too dreadful for you to endure. Still please tell me what you think and don't be afraid to talk to be on my tumblr: _MARQUESS-DE-BORGIA_**

**Some questions I would love for you to answer:**

**1) What do you want to happen next? **

**2) What do you think would make this fanfiction better?**

**3) What - if anything - did you like about this chapter or any other chapter that you would want to see more of? **

**I love reading all of your reviews and getting notifications saying someone is following or has liked this story. It brightens my whole day so thank you. I love all of you :) **

**\- Anna**


	6. The French King

**The French King**

**_August 1494_**

"Joffre."

Amara De' Medici's feet made hard repetitive patters as she jogged through the smooth stone floor. She could make out the younger boy just a few paces in front of her, darting through the crowds of people who swarmed the Roman halls. She witnessed him turn through a gap in the wall and continued her chase after him.

"Joffre." Amara giggled quietly, the distraction caused her to bump into a maid. The interaction caused her to laugh louder and run a little faster. In addition to this, Amara had also lost Joffre.

Pausing for a moment she waited for the boy to make a noise that she could follow. When that failed she whispered playfully:

"_Joffre_."

Realising that she couldn't stand alone for much longer she picked up pace and decided to turn left. The corridor was filled with streaming light and Amara could hear voices at the end of the tunnel. She smirked knowing that Joffre was probably nearby.

Amara came to a startling halt as she realised which room was at the end of the tunnel and just which family she had interrupted. She breathed deeply attempting to quietly disappear from view. Fate however, had other plans.

"Lady Medici," The Duke of Gandia almost ran from his place by a golden framed portrait to meet the young girl who was desperate to escape from the doorway. "I would have your opinion," He smiled guiding her into the room. "On Sancha of Aragon."

"Juan." Cesare growled his disapproved warning.

"It is only an opinion, brother." The smug grin that Juan was holding matched his glinting eyes.

Amara wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. Eventually, she decided to state the obvious. "She is very beautiful."

And she was. The women in the portrait was clearly beautiful, there was something dark in her eyes which suggested… Well, Amara wasn't sure what it suggested just that it caused her to have a peculiar feeling in the base of her stomach.

"Yes," He said, shocked, rubbing his chin as though he had only just stumbled upon the fact when she had informed him with the idea. "She is rather, isn't she?"

"Amara!" Her head twisted towards the sound, and a smile began to grow on her face.

"You must go, Lady Medici." Even though Cesare was now speaking directly to her his eyes would not leave his other brother who was currently looking back at him with the same dangerous look in his eyes. "Our brother calls for you."

"Amara!" The boy christened her once more.

Amara was pleased that he had given her leave from the Pope's private rooms. Joffre was much more entertaining than staring at beautiful women who made her feel unpleasant. She took a fast pace from the room, remembering only at the last moment to twirl in order to bow to the Pope. It was for this reason alone that she heard Juan's own opinion on _her_.

"She really is quite exquisite, brother." You could hear the smile toying on Juan's lips as he teased his cardinal sibling. "Your new play thing."

"Be quiet, Juan." Cesare snapped.

"_Amara_!"

She would never know if Juan was silent after that since another Borgia needed her undivided attention and she intended to give it.

* * *

"Are you sure your brother will not mind, Joffre?" Amara tentatively asked while twisting towards every sound that the house made.

"No." He smiled mischievously. "He'll never know."

Amara sighed following the boy as he moved through the halls of his brother's villa. It was the first time that she had ever stepped foot inside of Cesare Borgia's private residence. She followed the fast footed young Borgia as he ran with ease through the long corridors. Meanwhile, Amara was attempting to not get too distracted by the high ceilings, elaborate paintwork of biblical scenes, and decorative panels of woodwork.

She managed to repeat Joffre's footsteps almost perfectly, which led her to a room that permitted bliss to be spread through her being. She gasped and then a laugh arose within her. Amara had never seen so many books, well maybe in her father's library but it had been so long since she had stepped foot in it that the image had slipped from her mind. Lorenzo De' Medici had always felt for his youngest child because although she was not his favourite, she was the sweetest and had the soft air of innocence about her, compared to that of his other children. That is why he had bought her first book and presented it to her in order to educate her in the world. Perhaps it had worked a little but that air of feisty innocence had remained intact.

The young Borgia was not interested in the manmade artistic beauty that surrounded them. After all, he had been in Cesare's home many times and had little concern for books. Well, almost all books except the one he was currently searching for.

"You keep guard on the door." Joffre orders Amara with a smile while attempting to climb the wooden frame.

Amara didn't have time to answer but dragged herself from the room and closed the door behind her. She hadn't seen a library so full in almost a year, not since she had been taken from her Florentine home. It was strange to think that in Rome she found herself with more freedom than she had in her homeland. Ladies in Florence did not leave there houses without extremely special occasions and even then they were covered with fine lace veils.

She rocked gently onto the balls of her feet and then smoothly lowered herself back down. It was a soothing feeling as she ran her fingers over the carved circles on mahogany wood. There was something beautiful about the Cardinal's household. Perhaps it was the fact that she had never been in it before and that fresh rush she got from seeing something magnificent for the first time. Amara closed her eyes and sank into the door.

"Is this your residence, Cardinal?" Her eyes snapped open and her body jolted as though someone had kicked her – hard.

"For the moment." She spun her head both left and right but could see no indication of Cesare's presence except for his voice.

"You are spare in your tastes, Cardinal." Amara began to walk slowly towards the mystery female voice who was communicating with Cesare.

"There is but one ornament I need here." She could hear them more clearly now and when she reached the end of the corridor the shapes became clear outlines.

"May I call you something other than Cardinal?" Cesare stalked the blonde women has she moved further and further away from him. It was like she was afraid of him or something he may spark within her.

The Cardinal stretched out and drew her close. They were so close to one another that their chests touched as they grew. Amara couldn't think of a time she had been close to anyone like that. "Call me, Cesare."

The couple continued their dance in hushed tones, a secret that only two lovers could share. The dance made Amara feel childish. When she had first bled her mother had told her she was a women. The fact didn't seem true now. If she were a women she would have had men in love with her but as it stood no men loved her. She couldn't be certain that anyone in the world loved her.

Amara was ready to turn away from the sight. That was until the two grew together in a hot flamed kiss of passion leaving Amara frozen in place.

Even if she had wanted to move it would have been impossible. A hot spikey feeling began to build through her body. The blood rushed from her face while her heartbeat developed into loud throbbing thumps. She felt like she couldn't breathe as the couple pressed themselves against the wall. Amara couldn't even remember the danger she would be in if she were caught watching the love affair.

"Amara?" Her neck craned to see the boy who had asked the question. He was still in his place at the end of the library, she was sure.

He would start yelling soon and Amara did not wish to be found watching when he did.

"Amara!"

The women gasped, hearing the noise and drew back.

Cesare spun in search but Amara was already gone.

* * *

The confessional booths in Rome were richly beautiful. The seats were cushioned with red velvet and the wood was skilfully carved with crosses and swirls. Of course, that was the confessional booth for Nobility. Those from the cities had to sit in plain wood while. The only similarity between the two was the wooden partition that separated the Cardinal from the sinful confessor.

Amara heard the door creak open and the cardinal shuffle as he went to sit. The curtain was drawn so she couldn't see which Cardinal it was listening to her deepest secrets be revealed. One thing was for certain though, it was not a Borgia. She had made sure that it would not be her guardian who listened to her heartfelt secrets.

The girl crossed herself.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Cardinal."

There was no reply and Amara began to wonder if she had imagined the door opening. Still, she continued.

"I must admit that it has been a while since my last confession." She moved her hands over the velvet hoping it would soothe her. "I do pray, Cardinal. I just don't always feel I need confession and in Florence, I had no fear to confess." Amara's eyes widened when she realised what words had just slipped from her pink lips. "I don't mean to say that I fear Rome. I do not."

She attempted to focus on the velvet. It was strange. It always felt so soft one way, and rough the other.

"I have been feeling so lost." She muttered. "I do not mean in a way that Rome is so vast and I am so small. Florence was vast also… but I was a part of Florence. Here I have no real place. I'm not part of their family, no matter how hard I try to smile and fit in I am not. My mother was a Medici although she remained an Orsini in name and that was fine because she was married. I am not married. I am not a Borgia."

If Amara's head had been clearer she may have reeled herself back in and gathered all unladylike feeling. Amara wasn't feeling clear though and so she continued.

"I get the most terrible feelings here. I feel so very alone and the bible says that I am not alone if God is with me. Surely God should be in Rome? It is the heart of Christendom. Should I be punished for that… for feeling so alone in the heart of God?"

Although Amara de' Medici did not have the faith of her mother, it was not for lack of trying. The thought made her sad but it was a sadness that she had learnt to live with.

"Perhaps it would be more fitting to punish me for what I witnessed. The pang of jealousy that sent me to come here." The image of that blonde haired women and Cesare Borgia filled her mind once more. "Can Cardinal's kiss? I always assumed their lips were for singing prayers and praising the Almighty yet I have seen another use for holy lips." Amara managed to gain control of herself and was glad of that the cardinal listening could not see her blush.

"How shall I be punished, Cardinal?"

"You will not be."

A perplexed look covered her frowning features. "Not at all?"

"No. You have nothing to be forgiven for."

Amara couldn't help feeling exposed. She hadn't expected to be free of all punishment, she thought that she would be scolded. The girl reached up to rub the dry tears from her face. Shutting her eyes and hoping that God would give her a sign, she ripped herself away from the booth.

The Cardinal Cesare Borgia let his head fall against the red velvet. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the young Medici girl he had just deceived.

* * *

"You met my betrothed, brother?" Joffre had clearly been building the courage within him to speak the words out loud. Amara traced her eyes over the boy's face yet could not bring herself to keep them there.

"I did." Juan replied nonchalantly before inspecting his newly poured wine rather than his little brother's face.

"Your silence is alarming, brother." Cesare used his napkin as a weapon by whipping Juan hard on the arm. "Put little Joffre at ease."

Juan was no longer silent. "Rest assured Joffre she does not have horns."

Joffre tried to think of the most important question. "Is she pretty?"

Juan blinked in deep thought before answering. "No."

Joffre began to think of what he would settle for. "Is she kind?"

"I know not." Juan rose from the table.

"Does she have any qualities to recommend her?"

"She has two legs," he said when passing Amara's chair at the head of the table. "The requisite number of eyes." He thought then explained some more. "Ten fingers."

"So she is not pretty." Joffre started to sum up all he knew about his wife. "And she is not kind." He aspirated. "She has two eyes, ten fingers, and two legs."

"Not forgetting toes," Juan rose a playful teasing eyebrow from the fireplace. "Ten of them, I believe."

"I will only marry once mother." Joffre said strongly through his breaking heart.

Juan paused behind Joffre's small chair and clinked his heels together. "Ah, Little Joffre!" The older brother swung his younger sibling through the air, over the chair top to face him. "She is not only pretty; she is beautiful."

"Really?" Joffre smiled excitedly.

"Just ask our dear Amara." Her head snapped up at the sound of her name and met the eyes of Little Joffre. "She has seen her portrait and called her thus."

"Really?" He was now looking to Amara for reassurance with sparkling eyes.

"Yes." She choked.

"She is an angel sprung up on the soils of Naples. In fact, if you would not marry her I would marry her myself."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Juan straightened himself up to be a solider. The way that was full of respected. "Now do I have your permission?"

"You may not marry her, Juan. She is my betrothed." Joffre's sincere proud tone filled the air.

"Yes she is." Juan bent himself so he was the same height as Joffre and spoke to him the way you would with a new puppy. "And who's a lucky boy?"

The two brothers laughed together joyfully.

Amara laughed as well until she turned to face Cesare. His smile was different from hers. It only formed when his eyes met hers and it seemed wrong. It was impersonal, tight and disfigured. She heard someone say something in her ear and tuned to catch it better but in the process her hand knocked the silver jug from the male servant's hand and it clattered loudly on the floor.

"Oh." Amara pressed herself back and jumped in the air. It didn't save her dress though, the blue bodice was covered in burgundy coloured wine.

"I'm so sorry, my lady." The server rambled his eyes staring at the ground. "I apologise."

Cesare was soon by her side and she could feel everyone's eyes on her.

"You idiot!" Juan burst marching towards them.

"No!" Amara gasped as he reached for the man's arm. She stepped between the two her arms up as she looked between the Borgia men. Cesare standing on the side and Juan doing a job of protecting the honour of her ruined dress. "It was my doing." She explained calmly with a bright personality.

Juan took a step back although his chest was falling rapidly as he took in long heavy breathes clearly still angry about something.

"Honestly," She turned to face the server. "I hope my clumsiness has not caused you too much trouble."

"No," He mumbled. "My Lady."

"Then there is no harm done." Amara clasped her hands together. "And I think I shall retire before I get into any more trouble."

"I'll escort you." Juan was back to giving her his gorgeous smile but eye line quickly darted to Cesare and the beam became twisted.

"Don't worry yourself, brother." Cesare spoke through gritted teeth. "I'll go."

Juan sneered, clearly fulfilled and retreated back to his mother's side.

Joffre, now revelling in his new beautiful belonging from Naples that even Juan was jealous of, stood pompously. "I'll accompany you too."

"Very well." Amara just wanted to leave the room. Her head was beginning to grow foggy from the wine and recent spillage.

Amara was enclosed by the Borgia's through the corridors that led to her room. She just wanted this night to be over. Never had she ever wanted more than to just go to sleep. She wouldn't even complain that it was not her bed in Florence or pray to be escorted back to Florence. Amara was simply thankful that there was a bed for her to sleep in – any bed.

"Where is Squillance?" Joffre broke the silence with a quizzical look.

"I know not." Amara answered honestly. It seemed she couldn't lie when tired and there was little harm in telling the truth.

"It is small." Cesare turned and winked at his little brother. "But you are not marrying for Squillace, Joffre. You are marrying for the whole of Naples."

Joffre had straightened himself a few inches and found his march to be a little straighter. "And my bride is very beautiful."

Amara wished to smack something then. Maybe she would do just that, to one of the plush silk pillows which lay on her bed? She wished more than anything that everyone would stop gloating on how beautiful the Duchess was. She wished that she had not agreed with them when she first saw the portrait.

"Yes." She agreed through gritted teeth. "She is."

If Cesare had not heard the girl's confession he may have laughed at her jealousy over his baby brother. Yet, the feeling was hard to rise from inside of him after he had heard her crying – like Lucrezia.

"Good night, my Lord." She a little bow to Joffre before turning to face the Cardinal. "Your Eminence."

The sweet reply came swiftly from the little Borgia. However, there was not one sound from the Cardinal's lips until the door was securely shut behind the tired girl.

"Come, little brother. It is past your bedtime."

Amara de' Medici glared down on her needlework.

It was wrong.

It was all wrong.

The stitching was meant to be turned to pillows, for the local churches but the churches would not be too thankful for the uneven cross that she had sewn.

Amara barely stirred from her lounging position on the sofa when the door began to knock. She mumbled for them to come in and hoped that her voice carried. After all it would only be her maid delivering something Amara was sure she didn't need to be interrupted for.

She could hear as footsteps entered the room. It wasn't clear whether they had heard the approval or not. Amara shut her eyes and waited for them to go away.

It wasn't her maid's fault that she was in such a foul mood. Instead, it was Joffre's. Joffre who had fawned over various jewels and trinkets for his new blushing bride. Amara had played her part well nevertheless all the smiling against her true feelings had caused exhaustion to drench her body.

"Little Medici."

Amara's muscles shot up before she could slow them down. There was little decorum in her stature with her dismantled wilting hair. With shaking hands she decided to smooth her dress back down to cover her stocking showing leg.

"Your Grace."

The Cardinal Borgia's eyes glanced down to her lap, or the thing resting on her lap. "You have been sewing." He raised his eyebrows and whispered. "Not very well."

Amara was frozen to her place but she watched him as his tanned fingers held the embroiled fabric to inspection.

"Oh no." He shook his head. "This will not do at all."

The Cardinal placed himself upon her bed and began to unpick her unskilful work very skilfully. Amara could not do anything but study him as his fingers moved.

"Do all Cardinal's sew?" She teased even though something in her wondered if there was any truth to it.

"No." He smiles. "Yet I am thus."

Amara was not sure what to say to that sad smile so she decided to remain silent and say nothing at all.

"I would sew for Lucrezia." The image struck her as odd. The idea of Cesare sewing in his darkened room for his little sister. "She could not sew very well at first and it disappointed our mother. The fact made Lucrezia feel bad and I could not bear it."

The silence continued as it had been before.

"It is a good thing that you will not be making your own dress." Cesare did not glance from his practiced fingers.

"Your grace?" She prompted pushing herself a little further up.

"I have commissioned a dress for you." He said the words like they were nothing. Amara supposed that they were nothing more than an obligation to him and it made sense, she had had a dress for Lucrezia's wedding, why not Joffre's?

"Thank you." Her throat almost caught on the polite phrase.

"Your Eminence." Cesare's puppet bowed low as he entered the room and did not look once towards Amara. She was thankful for that. "Lady Ursula Bonadeo has requested a confession in your company."

The Cardinal rose like the task was a chore but there was something dark in his eyes that suggested just the opposite and Amara was hit once again with that unkind feeling she resented. "Good day, Little Medici." He smirked before leaving the room.

Amara flopped back down onto the soft sofa and sighed. She closed her eyes, trying both to image what colour dress would suit her the most while the picture of this Ursula Bonadeo pressed against the Cardinal haunted her.

* * *

_**September 1494**_

Amara thought that she and Juan Borgia must have been quite breath-taking as they processed rather formally down the large tiled aisle.

She could see Lucrezia walking just a few paces in front of her by her brother Cesare's side. He was permitted to be Cesare today and not the Cardinal he loathed so much. By his sisters side there was not much else he could have wished for. Amara had not been allowed to see Lucrezia since she arrived in Rome that morning since everyone was so busy preparing for the Duchess of Squillace's needs.

Amara had chosen a gown of purple which stood out against the other colours inside of the church and she was sure was going to be much appreciated by Juan Borgia who Cesare had chosen to escort her.

In truth, she had chosen purple because it was the colour of royalty, and also a part of her Medici colouring. Her farther had worn purple to show that he himself was practically a royal in Florence and Amara did not want to appear weak when standing alone with the Borgias. Those who surrounded her did not wish to see a strong member of the most important families of Italy but instead a weak little girl who was going to allow herself to be played. Maybe, Amara would have felt more pity for them if she was not so profoundly bitter of the marriage that was about to take place.

Juan kissed her hand as he parted from her and Amara felt she had achieved the impossible or improbable. What she had not expected was Cesare's tight grip to take over and lead her calmly – too calmly – next to his own Chair. It was here that Amara was allowed to greet her long lost friend.

"Lucrezia." She leaned over the married girl's brother to clasp her hands to Lucrezia's.

"Amara." She smiled a hint of tears threatening to spill. "I have missed you."

"And I you." Amara whispered fearing that people would steal the moment away from her. "My bed has been so empty without you."

"I am afraid that mine has not."

Amara being confused by the words tilted her head. Clearly, it was not a good thing that her bed was occupied most nights. Lucrezia's grave tone and Cesare's tense body had made that sound in her mind. She parted her lips to speak but the Duchess of Squillace's entrance tore away her chance and ended the reunion.

Standing by Cesare and watching Juan's face for a reaction to the bride Amara strained to look as stunning as possible. It turns out Sanchia of Aragon was not beautiful. She was exquisite. Juan it appeared was right to dub her an angel and no amount of trying would ever beat the effortless nature of her looks.

She wore a gown of white with a golden bodice which forced her breasts upwards. Her veil was one that any girl would be jealous of, but Amara was not just any girl and the jealousy she felt would therefore be suiting to her station. The feeling mixed with embarrassment as her dress of shining purple suffered horribly by comparison.

"Most gracious Lord." Cardinal Sfosza addressed Joffre first. "Do you agree under the eyes of God to accept the most gracious Sanchia, Duchess of Squillace as your lawful wedded spouse?"

"I do."

"She is too beautiful." Lucrezia complained in her wistful way. "I hate her."

Hearing the words that Amara had often thought herself spoken aloud shocked her slightly but mostly filled her with happiness that someone else was willing to view the world as she did.

Cesare took a sharp intake of breath wondering if he should voice his own opinion. "If you hate beauty dear sis you must hate yourself."

"Lucrezia gave a small smile. "Alright, I will love her then." Amara's heart dropped until she heard Lucrezia's low voice. "But deep down somewhere I still hate her."

Amara let off a small sweet laugh catching the attention of the siblings.

"See," Lucrezia leaned to her brother and whispered. "Our Amara agrees with me."

Cesare looked between the two girls and informed them of his knowledge. "One can hate and love I have found." She speculated where Cesare could have obtained this piece of information. Or who could he have felt both love and hate towards?

"There was a poem. Wasn't there? That said just that?" Amara wondered if she had voiced her question and Lucrezia was merely answering it. Then she realised that Lucrezia had had the same thought as she. Only Lucrezia knew of her brother's love for poems well enough to answer it. A bitter taste came over Amara's mouth as she was once again left from the circle. She turned her head from the couple towards the marital one in front of her.

"Most gracious Lady, do you agree under the eyes of God to take the most Noble Lord Joffre as your lawful spouse."

"I do."

"Poor Joffre." Lucrezia sighed with resentment. "He deserved better than Naples."

Cesare found some humour in the picture of his little sister in politics. "Are you becoming expert in genealogy?"

Amara wished that she was an expert in it. As far as she was concerned there was her Florence first and everything else second.

"I have heard the rumours of her monstrous Father." Lucrezia managed to raise her voice to almost reach a snap. It didn't work entirely, she could never show full anger towards her most beloved brother.

A crease fell across Amara's face. What rumours? She had not heard the rumours. What was it that made her Father so monstrous?

"And you believe them?" Cesare said in a voice of disbelief but Amara couldn't imagine the tactful Cesare Borgia not wondering if they were even a little true. He was a man of the world and would have to be if he planned on saving Florence.

"Why Naples?" Lucrezia burst wondering how quickly her marriage was cast aside as important.

"Our Father has a realm to protect." He explained pacifyingly.

"And this Sanchia will protect it?" It was Lucrezia's turn to be faced with disbelief. The girl that she hated about to save her family.

Cesare gave a small smile and fell further in his seat. "We must wait and see."

_'Yes._' Amara thought '_We must wait and see how the sweet Joffre fairs in a place that is home to monsters.'_

* * *

**A/N: Look at me updating in under a month which may feel like forever but is pretty good for me. My aim is to update at least once a month and this story is finally kicking off which is strange considering that we're half way through the series. **

**I'm sorry if I'm going to be cheeky but I'm going to beg for ten reviews before I upload the next chapter just because reviews give me a serge of passion to write especially since you all give me new ideas which I can take into my mind. **

**So please tell me what you want to happen and what you think could be better. I hate to be a bother and ask for the reviews but these chapters are harder to write than they seem...**

**Thank you all for your support and if you're new please come and talk to me.**

**\- Anna x**


	7. Death on a Pale Horse

**DEATH ON A PALE HORSE**

_1934_

_Late September_

* * *

Amara de' Medici twisted her head lazily from the sight of her jewelled hand. The sun had almost blinded her as it radiated off the stones and left patterned spots embedded in her eyes. When her eyelids closed the red spots danced along her retina.

Joffre's sweet cooing to the birds appeased Amara into daydreams. Since his marriage to the Duchess of Squillace, Amara's relationship with the young boy had become much simpler. He no longer talked of foolish things like marriage to a Medici but instead boasted about the fondness everyone felt for his new wife.

"My brother does not like many people."

Amara could barely hear the sound of Joffre Borgia. "Hmm?"

"My brother, Juan," Joffre explained further with a quizzical look on his face. "He does not always like new people."

"Is that so…" Amara had stirred to look at her other hand now. The bracelet that her brother had given her rested daintily on her wrist.

"He likes my bride though." Joffre's voice had swelled with pride.

"That he does." She agreed, her bracelet jingling as she shielded the sun from her eyes.

"Why?" He puzzled.

"Why?" Amara repeated in the same tone. When had Joffre become so inquisitive?

"Yes." Joffre hung on the word for a moment before expanding his question. "Why does he like my bride but hate Lucrezia's husband?"

Amara encouraged her green eyes towards the child's face. "Perhaps, it is because he sees the happiness she brings you."

"Is Lucrezia not happy then?" He sounded upset at the prospect but not to the same point that his brother, Cesare may have been.

"Lucrezia is different." Amara almost snapped.

"My wife sleeps in very late." Joffre swooped a white dove into his hands ruffling its smooth white feathers.

"That she does." She trailed her eyes from her brother's gift towards the Duchess' bedchamber. The curtains billowed delicately from her room's open window. Amara wondered if that was what it was like to be married into the Borgia family. Would it be the same? If Amara were married and not in the Vatican – would it be the same?

Would Amara be doted on as the Duchess was? Would she be as important – without a care in the world?

"Joffre!"

"You mother calls for you, Joffre." She dismissed the child but dragged her body from its lounging state.

"Joffre."

Amara watched as the dutiful child followed perfect orders and went to find his mother. When it was over, Amara could not help but stare back at the Duchess' window. The sun was high in the sky, half the day was lost and still the Duchess stayed in her room. From what Amara had seen of Sanchia she was not a shy women so it would be unlikely that she hid herself away for that reasoning. So, what could it be that pried Sanchia to stay in her room?

"Amara." The light hand on her shoulder was startling. "Were you somewhere nice?"

Amara stared up at Lucrezia with a smile. "Is there a place nicer than Rome?" She studied the girl as she tumbled to the floor, slouched over Amara's lap. "Did you enjoy your ride?"

"Yes," Lucrezia rotated her face from the glaring sun. "But Cesare rode on."

"Why?" Amara enquired before she could stop herself. The words came plummeting from her mouth. "Where to?"

"He doesn't tell me." She laughed a sweet sound, her head tipping back lightly. "Are you going to visit the convent?"

"Yes." It was a way of passing the time that Amara found soothing for her soul to visit the Convent of St. Celia. "Would you like to join me?"

"No." Lucrezia breathed. "I must return to my husband."

"Today!" Amara's fingers stopped in Lucrezia's hair as she exclaimed. "I thought you arranged to leave tomorrow."

"I did but my husband wrote." Lucrezia's voice was so calm and collected that her words had little emotion. "I must leave."

"You don't have to." Amara protested desperately. "We could fake your imprisonment and escape to a far off land."

Lucrezia found the humour in Amara's idea with a sigh. "Not everything is bad."

A warmth swelled within her heart. "Your husband is kind then?"

"With his fall?" Lucrezia let a small smile grace her lips as she asked. It was a smile that Amara could not understand.

"Yes."

"He is…"

"But it is not him you speak of." A strange feeling overcame Amara. It didn't feel like envy… it did not burn hot but cold and as it spread she became weak. "Who then? You must tell me."

"Later, Amara." She shushed letting her neck relax once more onto the autumn grass and lulled Amara down next to her. "I wish to be still until someone commands me otherwise."

* * *

Amara left the nunnery with the same sense of triumph that it always conveyed. The breeze drifted through her loose hair as Alvarardo walked lazily under her.

"Lady Medici!" The loud shout over the sound of rushing water started Amara. Her heart began to beat rapidly against her chest but when she turned it settled a little.

"Cardinal." Amara greeted Cesare as his horse landed beside her own.

"Why are you here?" His brash tone shocked Amara. She glanced up to risk seeing Cesare's face, he appeared to be annoyed or frustrated over something.

"I am distributing arms." She explained rationally. "There are many who go hungry in the convent of St. Cecilia."

"Where is your escort?" The Cardinal glanced around waiting for a guard to appear, none came.

Amara blinked once before answering the irrational Cardinal. "I do not have one."

"Why?"

Cesare did not have time for this today. The young girl was infuriating to him in that moment and considering his conversation with Sister Martha it was not odd for him to be so tense. Did the Medici girl not realise that she was under his protection? Had she vanished to receive word from Florence?

Amara tilted her head back into the sunlight. "Because there is no danger to me on the path to the convent."

"Come, I will escort you." He kicked his horse on ahead of her forgetting all thoughts that she might be doing anything untoward. It wasn't in her nature to plot. "And I would not have you without an escort again."

The command hung in air like a warning. Amara wondered why he had suddenly changed his mind. Why, when she had been travelling alone for so long, was it suddenly unacceptable for her to do so?

"How often do you distribute arms, Little Medici?" Cesare questioned how his spies might have missed her?

"I try to attend at least once a week." Amara answered the question honestly. There was little reason to lie.

"Then I must stand in awe."

"You are the benefactor of this convent." Amara reminded him. "Surely that is more awe worthy."

"A privilege granted by my Father."

"You visit it." Amara attempted to remove the praise from herself. "Many Cardinals would not."

"And you visit even though you are not a Cardinal."

Amara had no response to the comment. She was not a Cardinal and perhaps Cesare was angry at her for visiting the nunnery without warning like she would have in Florence. She sighed and thought of how foolish she was – things were still different in Rome compared to what they were in Florence. No matter how much Amara had learnt in her first year of being in the Holy City, something new always appeared afterwards.

Rome welcomed the couple back into its dusty streets with open arms. Amara slid from the leather saddle with the help of Cesare's firm grip. Her feet stung slightly and sand flew up, clinging to the bottom of her skirt.

"Thank you." Amara muttered forcing her eyes up. Cesare was so close to her, too close. He still had his hands on his waistline. She could feel his breath on her face and the heat radiating from his chest onto her own.

"When you next show your goodness in the distribution I would like to escort you." The Cardinal spoke with parted lips. "There is some business that I wish to attend to there."

"Of course." Amara couldn't remove her own eyes from Cesare's hooks no matter how she tried.

"My Lord?" The voice started Amara but she couldn't move a muscle to change her position.

The Cardinal's position however did change. He whipped his head around to see the petrified man. "What?"

"Your father wishes to see you in his chamber." The servant managed to clumsily get his message out.

"Very well." Cesare exhaled taking a step back from Amara. "I shall speak with you later, Little Medici."

It wasn't until Cesare was firmly out of sight that Amara realised just how fast her heart was beating inside her chest desperate for an escape.

* * *

"You asked to speak to me alone, Father." Cesare asked, twisting his Cardinal ring.

"Yes, my son." Pope Alexander VI stepped out from the light and closed the door to shut it out from sight. Whatever the pair had to discuss it was not suitable for the light to hear. "I have had intelligence that 25,000 and more French troops are marching towards Milan."

"My, God." Cesare spoke slowly trying to imagine the number inside of his head.

"Indeed." His grave tone voiced. "An apocalypse."

"It is a long march from France to Rome," Cesare thought aloud trying to compose both the Borgia men. "Anything could happen."

"Oh, Milan will grant safe package_._" The Cardinal waved his hand and the thought away. _ "Il Moral_ has made his intensions abundantly clear."

Cesare could see the map of Italy in his head and rapidly inquired. "What about Florence?"

"Well, you tell me." The Pope rested his hawk eyes on his eldest son and did not let them go. "You visited Florence."

Cesare swallowed. "Florence keeps its council."

"And its council is called Niccolo Machiavelli." Alexander VI spat out the name like it could poison him.

Cesare, seeing the way that his father shook with rage attempted to recover the situation. "I have his understanding that Florence will do nothing if its territories are not invaded."

"And if they are?" The Pope began pacing the room.

"It will do something." Cesare almost stuttered.

The Pope paused at his desk. "Would they count their _sacred_ daughter as one?"

"Holy Father," Cesare's brow furrowed together. "I do not understand."

"When the French arms come, all will be pillage and we may have to give hostages from the great families that live here." Although Alexander VI tone was cheerless there was something darker hidden behind it. "The Medici's are a great family."

"The Medici girl is not yet fifteen." Cesare objected firmly with freezing blood spreading in his veins.

"All the more reason for Florence to do something." The Pope blasted against his son. "Machiavelli shows great respect for the Donna Amara Medici."

The Pope had heard the rumours that flew around the Medici girl ever since she arrived at Rome's court. They said that she was dutiful and sweet with a liking for Joffre Borgia. However, since Lucrezia's wedding new words had spewed from the mouth of Rome about Machiavelli and the Medici girl. The two of them and their secret plots.

"She is young, Holy Father." Cesare tried to reason. The Medici girl was sweet and innocent. The way that his sister had once been before she had been sold to Milan to fight the French. Cesare did not wish to be a part of another ruined innocence.

"French arms may alter the whole occasion!"

Cesare shook his head. "Has the College of Cardinals heard?"

"No…" His Holy Father answered. "But they will and we can imagine the discord already, everyone divided into factions." He gripped his son's robes firmly with a clenched fist. "We are facing a battle for our very survival and Florence shall be taken first."

* * *

_1494_

_Early October_

_Excommunication!_

That is what the letter had informed her of.

The whole of Florence Excommunicated!

Florence had given herself freely to the French and now Amara's world would pay the price.

The room bubbled with maid servants running and darting under one another attempting to get everything sorted. Amara de' Medici had been quite firm in her desire for them to clear away all of her things although she had not told them why.

Tentatively, one maid approached her mistress. "Would you like your blue gown packed, My Lady?"

"Yes." Amara gave her maid a charming smile. "All of them."

"Do you not wish to wear it to the dinner tonight, My Lady?" The same maid voiced wearily.

"What's going on here?"

The room did not stop in its maddening when Cardinal Cesare Borgia stepped though into Amara's chambers. Everyone was far too intent of finishing what their Lady's desired to be concentrating on anyone else's.

Amara shook her head at her maid and spoke casually. "I will not be here for the dinner tonight."

"Where is it you plan to be?" Cesare enquired but once again no one stopped or noticed his presence.

"Oh!" Amara darted across the room to catch the silk between her fingers as it draped on the floor. "Be careful with this one."

It was the dress she had worn at Joffre's wedding, only a little while ago and yet it felt like a lifetime. She swallowed and let the fabric slip from her hands.

"Stop this!" Cesare exploded and every soul in the room fell quiet. Seeing the attention he was granted Cesare continued. "Be gone!"

"No! Wait!" Amara pleaded to her scurrying maids as they left. They did not even look back at her for fear of Cesare that had driven them away. Angrily, she spun to face the Cardinal. "Now who's going to help me pack? You?"

"Why are you packing?" Cesare circled her attempts to place her goods into the trunk that lay on the bed sceptically.

"I am to leave for Florence." She did not risk to even peep up at the Cardinal but continued effortlessly praying that he could not see her trembling fingers. "Correct?"

"You are to stay here." Cesare laughed laying a hand upon Amara's to stop her actions.

She yanked her hand back as though his touch burned her and spoke. "In the Holy City of Rome when I am so unholy?"

"You have heard then?" Cesare had the expression of a boy who had just been struck by his Father for the first time.

"The whole of Florence cast out from the eyes of God?" Amara raised an eyebrow before turning away from the Cardinal. "I have heard."

"You are not of Florence." He reasoned knowing that it would not be enough.

Amara de' Medici could not comprehend what he had said. The words send a hot pulse through her body, she latched forward to grab the window ledge and spat in a low voice. "Leave me."

Cesare must have understood his mistake. She could hear his footsteps getting louder as they approached her. "Little Medici…"

"Yes!" Amara whirled around knocking his reaching hand out of the way while she erupted. "Medici!" Cesare took a step backwards as she quaked. "It is strange to me that you think I could do anything other than stand by my family to the end. Even if that end is Hell."

"You must try and see things reasonably." The cardinal tried to mollify the emotional girl.

"No." She retorted. "They have hostages from all the great families: Medici and Piazzi." Amara's voice turned quieter then as she thought about the letter that rested on her desk once more. "They have my cousin."

"There was a choice…" Once again the Cardinal attempted to clear the Vatican of blame.

"That depends on your definition of the word." Exhausted, Amara found her way to the bed and sat upon the soft bedding. "There was no choice. You know what happened in Luca."

"Yes," Cesare rested down beside her with a small sarcastic smile. "The genius of Luca."

"There would have been rivers of blood in my fair Florence." Amara contemplated the golden ceiling above her and thought how it compared to her own in Florence. The difference between the gold and blue. "I would rather they had let the entirety of Hell walk through their gates than have those children, which my family has sworn to protect, die at the hands of French arms."

"It is my Father's edict of emancipation." Cesare uttered softly. "Not the College of Cardinals."

Amara was still disheartened, her eyes were still glued to the corner of the room. "Popes can do what they may just as Kings pillage and my brother signed away Florence."

"I could not speak out against my Father." He was facing her now, watching her face for any emotion that would tell him how she felt towards Rome or him.

"And I will not speak against mine." She whispered. "Now, if you would be kind enough to leave me, Your Eminence."

"No." Cesare stood up and blocked her vision from the painted above. "You don't understand. What I can't say to my Father in public, I will in private. Florence is safe and when France comes to Rome he will let your cousin go."

_'And of myself' _Amara thought, _'What will become of me when the French Arms come to call on Rome?'_

* * *

**A/N:**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR! **

**You guys are the best ever! The reviews on the last chapter were so amazing I had the inspiration to update sooner than I normally do. **

**As always I have questions:**

**1) Did you like the Cesare/Amara scenes? **

**2) Which people do you want to see with Amara more? **

**3) What did you think of scene between Cesare and his Father? Do you want more scenes not involving Amara but people talking about her?**

**4) General thoughts? I love any review to be frank it's just sometimes thinking of something to review is hard so the questions are just a guideline/inspiration for you guys :)**

**\- Anna x**


	8. The Art of War

**The Art of War**

**_1494_**

_Late October_

Rome was maddening.

Word of the French army had spread and the news was that the Borgia Pope was to be deposed. Not that dear Amara de' Medici had been informed of course and she hadn't wondered to ask. The cardinal had promised her own fair Florence safety from excommunication and she had heard no news that his promise was untrue. So, when Cesare Borgia informed her that she was to stay inside of the Borgia Villa not not to venture outside or even open a window without escort she had thought nothing of it.

Sometimes cities just went a little mad.

"It is a good morning, my lady." The chipper tone broke the silence of Amara's chamber.

She groaned. "It is?"

The maid insisted. "You should see."

Amara heard the rough scraping of the balcony doors as they began to open and sighed. All previous warnings from Cesare Borgia had been erased from her mind as she pushed her muscles out. That was until the heavy _thud _echoed around the room.

She froze for a moment and then very carefully started to peel herself from the bed. Soon Amara's heart started to pound suddenly awoken from its petrified state; shaking limbs appeared to have their own sense of reason as she slid slowly from the bed to assess the damage in her chambers. However, the moment of calm ended and the storm broke loose as the young girl saw her maid lying upon the ground. It wasn't until her eyes settled upon the blood gushing from her dented skull that Amara de' Medici lost the composure of a lady and began to scream.

* * *

Help came quickly after that.

The events to restore the Medici girl's chambers to their usual format came at the same pace. Someone removed the rock which stuck the maid, another sent for a doctor, two or three removed the body and one removed Amara until she came to be sitting in a velvet chair with wine in hand. Some of the blurs tried to speak to her but Amara couldn't make out one word from the next so she shook her head when they spoke.

Her maid was _dead_ – and it was Amara's fault completely. She should have warned her that all windows and doors were to remain shut. A wave of nausea hit her once again – all her fault.

It wasn't until Micheletto Corella marched through the door that her spirit regained a little more consciousness.

"My Lady Medici." He bowed smoothly.

Amara remained silent. Micheletto would not venture far from his master unless he had been told to and a reason therefore demanded it. She could ignore the blurring maids and physicians but she couldn't ignore the orders of her own guardian, especially when that guardian was the Pope's son who decided her whole fate.

"My Lord, Cardinal Borgia would request your presence in his Father's quarters, My Lady." She noticed that his face had not changed in emotion the whole time he talked. A small part of her wondered if the man had it in him to feel pity or anything at all.

"Of course," She rose from her seated position evenly and the blurs took a firm step backwards. "If that is what, His Eminence requires." Her voice although small mustered more nobility than any other had the hope of doing in such circumstances.

The walk was silent and she was thankful for it. There was too much in Amara's mind for her to muster any small talk but Micheletto didn't appear to be one in favour of unneeded conversation.

The Pope's private rooms smelled heavily of incense and perfume. The odour hung in the air and attacked Amara's nostrils. Cesare was the only moving figure in the quiet room as he paced back and forth in repetitive steps. His neck snapped around as he heard the couple arrive at their destination and he did not stay in his repetitive steps for long but changed suit to charge towards them.

"Are you hurt?" He asked cupping Amara's face to examine her closer.

"No." She hadn't intended for her voice to be such a quiet murmur and yet it was. In a similar way, she could not stop the tiny smile gracing her features at the thought of his care.

"Good." He concluded catching the eye of his servant still standing, watching his master, watching his ward. "You may go, Micheletto."

"I will have them all dismissed." Cesare decided when he was done re-examining her body.

Amara's brow fell along with the smile in a confused fashion. "Why?"

"_Why_?" He let go of her at once. "Because they are incompetent fools."

"They are not." Amara defended. "I was one you told to be careful, not them." The Cardinal opened his mouth to speak but the daughter of Florence continued regardless. "They have suffered enough, don't you think?"

The Borgia pursed his lips. "And if the rock had past her head and hit yours?"

Amara paused, she had not thought of that. "But it was my fault; perhaps it would have been fairer if it had."

Cesare raced forward and took her face once more in his hands. "Do not say that." He held her gaze. "They should have known better."

Amara was perplexed for a moment. Why should a maid know better than a Lady? Yet, the answer was simple, just not to her. They knew more of Rome and why Rome was facing a sudden change. Why she saw the people in its walls slipping away every day. Why the Borgia household was dwindling. Everyone knew about Rome…everyone but her that was.

"You will stay here, in the Vatican, from now on." He soothed his thumb over her pale skin. "I would have you safe."

It was not until she peered up that Amara realised the Cardinal and herself had both been standing so close to one another. The two were watching each other waiting for the other to retreat or advance but neither did. So, Cesare stayed with his hands around her face while Amara puzzled herself unable to move. It was the Cardinal's head which almost began to dip until the sound of the Pope's booming voice drew them apart.

"We would review whatever forces we have at our disposal." He stormed into the room while Amara recoiled into the corner out of his sight. "Where's your brother?"

"I know not, Holy Father…" He began to wash his hands in the copper water bowl with a small smirk which belonged to only him. "But I suspect."

"Well then seek out the Gonfalonier of the Papal forces, and drag him from whatever whorehouse he has seen fit to rest his head and tell him that if Amara de'Medici," His voice was loud now and the Pope was pointing directly at Amara from her hiding place. "Can be here he can too!"

Her mouth hung open while he flung himself from the room before the startling sound of a shocked laugh began to protrude from it. "You appear to have a quest, My Lord Cardinal."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and accompanied her in escort from the room. "And you new chambers to enjoy."

* * *

There was more freedom in the Vatican or at least more space to move about.

Cesare, of course, had banned her from the leaving its wall and she could only move about them for certain reasons but there was still more happiness inside the Vatican's wall than outside of it. In addition to her new found freedom Amara noted that she received a larger party of maids to would follow her like sheep.

It was on her way to midday prayers that Amara met Cesare Borgia waiting outside the assembly of the College of Cardinals.

"Little Medici." He greeted with a proud smirk.

She drew herself a little taller and smiled. "Your Eminence."

"Tell me; are your new rooms sufficient?"

"Alas," she teased. "They could be a little bigger."

He sighed in jest. "I'm afraid you have taken our largest rooms."

"Oh," She faked a frustrated understanding. "Well, I suppose we cannot all be Florence."

"No, we cannot." He said slowly. "You may have noticed, Little Medici that I am about to enter the Assembly of Cardinals."

"I have." Amara nodded understanding that he was referring the pact they had to keep Florence out of harms way. "I suppose I had better pray for you then."

"And the College of Cardinals," He reminded her. "Do not forget them."

"Oh, yes." She nodded with a mock forgetfulness. "Them too I suppose."

The two laughed but were cut off once again by the Pope's voice. "The Lady Medici."

"Your Eminence." She received his ring when he offered it to her.

The pope gave a rough quick smile. "I am afraid that we are needed for matter of state."

"Of course, Holy Father." Amara was diplomatic; she spoke slowly and walked away with her maids following quickly behind her like ducklings.

It was only when Amara was in the distance that the Pope turned to urge his son once more to win the girl's unprecedented support onto _their_ side no matter the cost. Of course, he never thought that the cost might be on the Borgia's side.

* * *

**_1494_**

_Early December_

Juan Borgia was going to save them all; the whole of Rome, and everyone in it.

At least, that's what people were whispering and Rome appeared to be happy to believe the new gossip. The streets were lined with cheering crowds to wish the Papal Forces on their perfect way to war. The pure bliss people found in the deaths of those they believed to be enemies was phenomenal. Of course, Amara de' Medici was no different. However, she did not think of death as she stood high above the crowds with her guardian watching his brother ride to war.

"It would appear," Cesare informed her gradually, "That you prayed for the wrong brother, my little Medici."

Amara threw her arm in the air to scatter more rose petals down onto those below. They rose gently in the wind but still they fell on the dusty floor to be were trampled by the masses below. "I did not pray for warfare."

"But we will be saved, don't you think Micheletto?" Cesare leaned forward to rest upon the stone wall, his eyes transfixed on his own brother's glowing armour. "Will the good Lord see justice in our cause?"

"Where warfare is concerned, Your Eminence," Amara had to stretch her ears to hear the words he spoke in that same soft tone as always. "Our good Lord will take a holiday."

She twisted her head to face the political men. "But he will know that it is our cause which is right."

"And what makes you think our cause is right?" Cesare's gaze moved with controlled precision to face her.

"The French kill without mercy." She explained imaging what they must have done in Lucca. She spat the next phrase like venom as the anger bubbled in her stomach. "They have disgraced my family and city, and they use cannon fire."

"You do not agree with the cannons, My Lady?" Micheletto did not move his own head to face her but continued to stare ahead as though he was not a part of the conversation at all.

"No, I do not." Amara answered deliberately. "With one match you have destroyed tens of lives and you could not describe even one of their faces."

Cesare watched the girl watching his brother and felt a rush to pray that Juan did not make it back from the battle.

* * *

"Out!"

Amara de' Medici's head whipped around to Cesare Borgia bounding into her new Vatican chambers.

"Now!" He found the new method of pushing her maids when they did not move fast enough for his liking. "Be _gone_!"

"Cardinal Borgia," Amara smiled calmly in the face of his storm. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Have you heard?" He demanded through the pants for breath.

Amara sighed still arranging the flowers on the table. "Evidently not."

"Juan has returned." The phrase commanded her attention.

Her whole body spun to face him now, ready to receive any extra information it needed. "What?"

"He has returned from war with nothing but a scattered trail of guts and tired men." Amara's body trembled at the words and she brought a hand to cover her shocked face. Cesare must have noticed her pale skin since he had stopped in his talking.

"What else?" She prompted trying to remove the smell of blood from her brain.

She had only smelt the red liquid on few occasions in her life and even less pieced her memory. There had been her first blood but the more harrowing had been the stench that surrounded her mother and father as their illness took a hold and the leaches came out. Even that had been too much for her weak heart, she could not imagine the stench that laced battlefield.

She forced her gaze onto Cesare's perched figure on her bed. There was something else that he wasn't telling her, something important.

"Tell me." She instructed. It was as much her right to know about these matters as it was anyone else's in Rome.

There was an apprehensive pain on his features. "They have Lucrezia held hostage." He reluctantly delivered the information.

"There must be some mistake," Amara pressed herself forward. "She was in Milan."

"She was collected by _La Bella_." The way Cesare spat her name made it sound unwanted. It was something that Amara may have found comfort in – the fact that Cesare disliked the Pope's mistress as much as she did – if the situation had been different that was.

"Then what's our next move?" His silence turns were starting to frustrate her. They were going to be attacked by France at any moment; these moments were needed for politics… something Amara knew alarmingly little about. "Your Eminence!"

He could hardly bring his lips to deliver the words. "You are to be sent away."

"Excuse me?" There must have been some mistake. She must have heard him wrong.

"You are to be sent away." He repeated a little louder this time.

"And where would you have me go?" The fear filled trembling was replaced at once with one of passionate exasperation.

"To my mother's villa, which is outside of Rome." _Away from Rome_, she would have begged to hear the words aloud even a few hours ago. Yet, the prospect of her dream coming true did not fill her with the bliss she desired. "You will be safe there."

"I will be safe here." Amara objected.

He shook his head. "I cannot guarantee that."

"Then you cannot guarantee I will be safe _outside_ of Rome either." She retorted.

"It is more likely." Cesare placed his hands out in protest.

"Likely?" She aspirated with a low un-humorous laugh. "They have my cousin held hostage and you speak to me about the _likelihood_ of my safety?"

"Then what do you suppose?" The Lord Cardinal did not have time to protest any further, his father needed him for more pressing matters and it was not his wish or that of his Holy Father's to drag her away in chains.

"That I stay here." She crossed the room from the sun streamed window into the shadows of the bed and dropped to her knees before him. Amara knew that he could see her tears, but the emotion could not be ignored. It was something darker than before, stronger than her love for Florence perhaps. Something that she could not explain. Nonetheless, she _knew_ to be away from Rome meant that she would be away from him. And it was not something Amara would deem acceptable. "With you."

Cesare Borgia lifted her hands to his lips and whispered: "Little Medici."

She mistook his affection for a need of comfort and took the opportunity to soothe him with words. "Nothing is going to happen. No harm will befall me." She swore with a small smile. "I promise."

Cesare shut his eyes tight but the image of Amara de' Medic's tear stained face would not leave him. Eventually, he sighed with her hands still at his lips and whispered. _"What have we done to you?"_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Hello, my lovely followers! **

**Have I told you how amazing you all our recently, especially those who are reviewing. I hope you all get a crazy amount of pizza and cake in your lives.**

**I know that this chapter is a bit shorter than usual but it was filled with a whole load of Cesare and Amara so hopefully you all forgive me :)**

**So... questions...questions...questions...**

**1) What do you think about the Cesare x Amara scenes? too much weird romance... too little?**

**2) Favourite moment? or least favourite...**

**3) What did you think of Amara going all I'm with you with Cesare and caring a little less about Florence maybe? **

**4) General feedback? You can literally review me anything...anything at all really!**

**I know that some of you wanted Amara to go and get Lucrezia with Guilia but I needed her in Rome for a future moment in the story...sorry about that. Anything else you really want to happen and I'll listen. **

**I honestly do love all of your reviews and read them like ten times over when I'm writing - which is why they are inspiring to me!**

**\- Anna x**


	9. Nessuno

**A/N: The Castel Sant'Angelio is like the Tower of London for the Papal States - I think... That will come in handy later. **

**Enjoy, love you! **

* * *

**Nessuno**

**1494**

**Late December**

"Maria!" Amara called into her chambers. "The weather is making me tired, draw me a bath."

It was a lie of course, that the weather was the reasoning behind her fatigue. The days were colder now than they had been in other months and the humidity was almost none existent but it was better than admitting her fear of the French armies.

Amara waited for the reply and when none came called again. "Maria?"

She apprehensively walked a little further into the room glancing around in confusion.

"They've fled." Amara jumped a little at the sound of Cesare Borgia's voice and couldn't tell if her fluttering heart came from the shock of seeing him or simply him being present in her chambers.

Amara paused in her steps and revolved towards Cesare, her brow folded. "What do your mean they've fled?"

"They got scared and fled." He stood to shorten the distance between the two. "We'll find you other maids."

"There's no point." She twisted herself from the grip of his hands on her arms. "If they fled others will follow."

"I will find you other maids." He sounded sterner now, more certain somehow. He had made his mind up about it and anyone who knew or even knew of Cesare Borgia understood that it was futile to argue with him over something he had decided to do.

"Why did they flee, Cesare?" Amara questioned while running a finger along the dusty surface of her windowsill. She was learning and the poor did not leave their jobs for nothing.

Cesare sighed, weighing up the options in his mind. He could claim it was nothing but Amara would soon find out either way. "French troops have been spotted."

The blow struck Amara so much that it felt as though the air had been whisked out of her lungs. She twisted around her hand reaching out to secure the strength of her dressing table. Cesare's feet moved a little but stopped when she enquired: "Where?"

"Around some fields near Castel Sant'Angelio." He did not go into more detail than that and Amara had no intent of asking. She didn't want to know of the slowly moving bronze and iron cannons, or the gunpowder, or the violence that followed them.

"Well," Her mind searched frantically for a silver lining, something she could cling to. It was strange that she had not thought of the French Armies arriving in Rome until Cesare had confirmed it for her. "At least Lucrezia will be with us soon."

A meek smile graced the Cardinal's lips. "Do you always see the good in things, Little Medici?"

"Do you always see the bad, my lord Cardinal?" She quipped.

He continued to watch her for a moment before saying words she did not think would be in his interest at that moment. "You should have a new gown for Yuletide."

"I do not." She disagreed.

"You had one last year."

"Will you be participate in your bull fight, as you did last year?"

He smiled throwing himself onto the bed playfully. "How could I when even the bulls have abandoned us."

"I shall attend high mass in a dress I already own." She was certain of it now. The people of Rome had seen her at both her best and worst. "There will be no one to see it anyway."

Cesare thought about this for a moment. His father would not approve, he wanted the world to think that the Vatican was secure and that included those in it being in new attire. Then, for some reason or other he made a promise he _knew_ that the Holy Father would disapprove of. "I shall accompany you."

* * *

Christmas day arrived quickly and both Amara and Cesare remained true to their word.

Cesare had smiled when he saw Amara. She was standing at the top of the stairs wearing the same dress as she had done the year before but not a soul would have been able to tell.

The dress, which gathered under her waist, was made with white and gold silk. It fell like a waterfall around her.

"Amara." He held his hand out towards her inviting her to descend the stairs towards him.

"Cardinal Borgia." She greeted, placing her hand lightly upon his own.

As was expected the chapel was almost silent. Compared to the previous year when Christmas was full of joyful singing and crowds, the church seemed dark and cold. Amara was pleased that Cesare had insisted on accompanying her, with Juan and Joffre living with their mother she would have been quite alone in the empty pew.

It was with this thought in mind she reached across and placed her hand upon his. Cesare almost flinched at the contact but calmed when he observed the girl the gesture had come from. She was fixated on his father yet she still managed to be with him, soothe him.

Pope Alexander VI raised his hands to make the sign of the cross and as he did the grand doors swung open with a scraping sound. Cesare beat Amara in the race to see just who it was and when he saw his jaw set and their hands switched as he gripped hers.

It was four men, one of which was clenching a roll of paper tightly in his hands. They were French that much was clear. Amara glanced around anxiously before turning to Cesare in the hope he would give an indication to what she should do.

"My Sons," The Pope's calm voice echoed through the empty church. "Welcome."

The men all walked in perfect harmony together, their steps resonated in time with the thuds of Amara's heart.

"My King, Charles VIII has sent us to arrange his visit into Rome." The man who spoke did not bow or kiss the papal ring dutifully, the insult did not go unnoticed. Amara watched the Pope's face become tense, it was the same face that her brother would enrapture when things did not go his way.

"My Lords." Amara stood to address the laymen removing her hand from her guardian's as she did so. Fear ran though her veins however there was more fear in letting the men speak. They were brash and did not have the naivety a woman could possess. "Forgive me, but surely you have come to celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"Worship." She corrected herself with the titter of a laugh. "After all, today is the day we remember our saviour's birth."

The French men were all inspecting her now. For a moment she wondered if they had realised that the gown she worn was old. Her heart settled to its usual speed when the man who appeared to be in charge spoke sweetly. "I apologise, My Lady but I am afraid I am quite ignorant of your name."

She drew herself up a little taller and held out her hand before answering a question she certainly knew the answer too. "Amara de' Medici."

The man's hand was rough as he took hers and his lips matched that against her skin. Still, as he returned to full posture he allowed himself a small smirk, which Amara didn't understand, to play upon his lips. His gaze scrolled from Amara to study the hand holding the fabric of her dress, then to the other which was clutching the tip of a silver sword and finally to the eyes of which the limbs belonged, Cardinal Cesare Borgia.

"You are quite right, My Lady." He agreed politely, and it seemed that everyone except Amara saw the chilling reality of the next sentence. "We should praise god, while we still can."

Amara and Cesare resumed their places and she scanned his face in search of a signal which would declare she had done the right thing by speaking to the French. There was nothing, still, as Amara turned back to face the Pope, Cesare Borgia seized her hand in his.

Amara heard nothing of the French Laymen until the last day of the year. When it was alleged that they, along with a few Roman citizens – chosen by the Pope – had returned to the French Camp. Even with the men gone from her presence Amara couldn't shift the man's smirking face from her head.

* * *

**1495**

**January**

Within three days of the New Year the French Armies had reached Rome.

They were pillaging, the same way they had in Tuscany when her brother allowed passage through Florence. Cesare did not accompany her when she prayed, he excused himself with politics. Instead, he ordered that Micheletto Corella watched over her.

"Why do you not pray, Micheletto?" Amara finally found the courage to ask on the fourth day of silence between the pair.

"I find it hard, My Lady." He did not look at her when he spoke.

"Hard?" Amara was perplexed by the answer.

"Yes, My Lady."

Amara rolled the prayer beads through her fingers why she tried to contemplate his story. She had once assumed that everyone had the same answer to her next question, yet there was something in the man's voice which made her doubt it. "But don't you love God?"

There was a silence between the two. A silence that may never have been broken if Cesare Borgia did not barge into her room.

"Gather your possessions." He ordered.

"What?" Amara rose from her knees, startled. "Pack?"

"Yes." He marched through the room, barely noticing Amara's confused frame. "We're leaving."

"Leaving? Wait," Amara forced herself into Cesare's path. It was only when she captured his full attention. "Why?"

"The French Army is coming." He was so quiet it was possible he simply mouthed the words.

"They wouldn't dare to enter the Vatican City." She tried to reassure both herself and the Cardinal. "You know that."

"It's not a risk we can afford."

She the inside of her lip until it bled. "Where then?"

"The Castel Sant'Angelio." The mentioning of the Papal fortress made Amara's stomach turn.

She felt Cesare standing behind her but the breath still lodged in her throat. "When?"

"Now."

* * *

To Amara's pleasure they had only remained in the Castle Sant'Angelio for three nights, then it seemed that the Pope put it upon himself to have a secret meeting with King Charles VIII. A meeting which secured the Vatican City and made it safe once again to move into the Vatican. It was on the first day back that Amara had the pleasure of encountering a girl she had missed very much.

"Lucrezia!" Amara exclaimed at the wisp of golden hair in Cesare's arms.

"Amara!" Amara was so thrilled to see her dear friend once again she did not notice the support she gained from her brother.

"The French did not treat you poorly then?" They were wrapped up in one another now. Amara needed to feel Lucrezia, that she was truly there after so long, that she was alive in both body and soul.

"No." Lucrezia stroked the girls head.

"And you have brought them to Rome."

"You should retire to your rooms." Cesare's voice managed to yank the girls into reality.

"Yes." The two still held the other's hands tightly while the winter breeze blew through them. "I'm sure you're tired. I'll draw you a bath, unless the maids have miraculously returned." She joked not knowing of course that they were already back, their tails between their legs in shame like the dogs they were.

"You should see a medic, Lucrezia." Cesare called after them as they merrily walked away from him.

"No, brother." Lucrezia disagreed firmly and clutched Amara's arm tighter. "I will be fine with a Medici."

"All will be well, Cardinal Borgia." Amara did not turn to see the overly concern he felt over his sister but joked instead. "I have lavender."

* * *

The French King was not as Amara expected.

She had happened upon him by chance as she always did in politics. He was not attractive, his nose was too big along with his chin and his ears stuck out too far. He had attempted to smile at her but that only seemed to make the situation worse.

"Your majesty." Amara set herself into a low curtsy and held it until her muscles ache.

"Amara de' Medici." He released her from her state with the insult of being ungracious. It was true that she was not in fact a lady but neither was half of Italy and her family were still held in the highest respect. "You are indeed more beautiful than the others who bear your family name."

"Thank you, Your Grace." She smiled courteously and spoke with a sweet voice. "I trust you saw much of my own city and you will agree it is more beautiful than myself."

"I am afraid I did not have time for beauty in my diplomatic relations." He wasn't interested in the pettiness of a young girl that much was clear to Amara but still she continued with her strategy.

"But you had a Medici with you on your travels." She explained decisively.

"I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about." Amara didn't like this king. He wasn't anything like a king should be, he was the ugliest man she had ever seen. Even with her small dealings of kings she knew they were supposed to be gracious, like Arthur, not cold as this one was.

a

"My cousin, Sire." Amara reminded the King while the unsettling feeling clawed at her stomach. "Pietro Rucellai, my aunt's son."

"I am afraid that many of our accompanied died on our way to Rome." The King's face never changed and neither did those belonging to his attendants. "From disease, you understand."

"Perhaps it was Marsh Fever, Sire." Amara no longer felt hot in the Roman sun, a cold wash had travelled through her blood. "There was a Moor who died of that here, in Rome."

"Maybe." The King agreed. No matter what the two nobles said to one another it was clear that neither trusted the other. It was true that Amara may have once believed that disease caused the deaths of guests yet it was clear to her now that the world was not kind and it did not run on goodness but politics. "Good day, Amara de' Medici."

Amara managed to force her now tense legs into another curtsy as the French passed her. "Good day, Your Majesty."

She waited until their laughing was far away before Amara moved her legs until they ached and then pressed on further.

Pietro – _dead!_

Pietro who had always been laughing.

Pietro who she had played with as a child.

Pietro who grew up in _Florence_ with her, who loved it almost as much as she had.

"_Out_!" Amara fumed the order at her maids, smacking the door open. The maids who had left her when Rome was in trouble. Was there anyone in this place which was not fickle? "All of you!"

The maids fumbled over one another to curtsy and scurry from the room. Amara prided herself in the amount of time she waited before letting the first tear slip out.

* * *

It was on a cool afternoon when the sun had hidden itself from view, that Amara de' Medici finally laid eyes on him.

Cardinal Della Rovere.

The man who had cast this war upon the Vatican, caused the ruined her home city and the murder of her cousin.

"Cardinal." Amara let a beaming smile grace her features. She would show him that he may have led the battle but she had most certainly won the war. She would show that she was a Medici, Medici's did not run but fought.

"Lady Medici." He replied evenly.

"Why do you not smile Cardinal?" She enquired with an amount of fake innocent. Just enough to prove that it was indeed fake. "Surely you are pleased, as a man of God, to have avoided bloodshed?"

"As a man of God I wish only to serve His holy word."

"The Pope is to remain Pope, as God granted it." She allowed a weak smile to grace her features before continuing with her insult. "However, Lucrezia informed me that you wished to for the French King to institute the deposition of her father, the Pope."

"I will not deny it." His thin face remained the same, and his thin lips accompanied him with this view.

"Yet it seems you chose a rather fickle leader," Amara pursed her lips together and tilted her head to one side. "And you will not receive your kingdom after all."

"Perhaps, but it seems you will also lose a guardian." Amara had not anticipated the words and suddenly the game was not as fun anymore. She had let her smug face drop into a look of confusion, a look that the Cardinal seemed to enjoy. "Oh, did you not know, My Lady. The French King intends to take Cardinal Borgia with him to Naples, I do hope he does not follow in your cousin's unfortunate footsteps."

Amara did not say another word, not only because of the fear that speech had been taken from her, but because she had already started to progress away from the Cardinal in the hopes of finding another man of the cloth.

* * *

When she finally spotted him his back was turned to her. She forced her way through the sea of people until she reached him.

"Is it true?" She pulled on his arm. Cesare's tense body snapped around and his dark eyes hooked onto hers. "Is it?"

"What, my little Medici?" His face was one of concern.

"That you are hostage to the French King?" She demanded to know. She had to know and it had to be now even with the fear of the answer weighing down on her.

Cesare inspected her face closely before he clasped her upper arm and drew her into a nook at the side of the corridor.

His large hands cupped her face and wiped streaks of tears from her face while intently waiting for her to give reasoning behind the water droplets. "My cousin is dead." '_And I am scared that you will die too_' She wanted to add but fear kept her from adding it.

"I know." He breathed.

He stared up at him intently. "When did you hear?"

"Two days ago." He seemed reluctant to answer.

"You didn't tell me." She accused knowing that it was a fact.

"No."

"Do –" She wet her lips, forced a breath back into her body and tried to speak again. "Do you have to go with the French?"

"I am legate to the French Court." He smiled as though it were an honour that God bestowed upon him, but it was plain in his sarcastic manner that he meant nothing of the sort.

"Is that the official term for a hostage now?" She jested. The two comforted each other with plays to hide their true emotions.

"It will be fine." Cesare rubbed his thumb soothingly over her cheek.

"You can't go to Naples." She argued while leaning further into his hand. "There's a plague in Naples!"

"And how do you know that?" He pulled back ever so slightly with a smirk.

She sniffed and then allowed herself to form a weak smile. "Are you the only one allowed to gossip?"

"Who says that I will reach Naples, Little Medici?"

"Oh." She couldn't stop the grin from taking over her face. She giggled throwing herself into his arms. It was ridiculous to think that the son of the most holy man on earth would be allowed to be kept hostage and then catch the most dangerous disease on earth.

He pulled his face back to see Amara, his face matched her as he mockingly copied. "Oh?"

A silence descended upon them. They were so close now, there was no room for her chest as it rose and fell in heavy breaths. Cesare stared at her intently his mind reeling over something, an idea as his eyes flickered from her eyes to lips.

Then, he dipped his head and kissed her.

And that was it. Amara understood all at once what all the myths and legends meant, she knew why people wrote endlessly and search all their lives to find the passion that she felt. The way it travelled around her body and ignited her every sense in the same way that a candle fizzled to a spark when the wax took flame.

Cesare finally drew himself back. Amara felt the lack of physical contact but couldn't bring herself to pry her eyes open.

"I will return." He promised in a whisper and then he was gone. Amara waited until her heart had stopped racing before moving swiftly into the public eye once more.

* * *

**1495**

**March**

"Lady Amara."

Almost two months had passed since her conversation with Cesare. And although he had returned to Rome within a fortnight Amara had yet to speak to him. It appeared that he was remarkably skilled at finding ways to make himself busy or excuse himself the moment she entered the room.

Therefore, the annulment was the first time Amara truly saw Cesare since their encounter. He sat in his Cardinal's robe along with the rest of his clerical brothers. They were all watching her, but then she supposed it was to expected considering that she was giving her public confession.

It had been the Pope who asked her to answer a few questions about Lucrezia's marriage. He had informed her that the Lord Sforza was in fact impotent and therefore his marriage to Lucrezia was null and void. However, he did agree that there was tradition to such an important matter.

"It is correct that you were present at the Lady Lucrezia's wedding?" Burchard started in his usual pompous tone.

"Yes." Her voice could not be trusted to give a more detailed answer.

"And you are close to the Lady Lucrezia?" He continued.

"Yes."

"Did she discuss her wedding night with you?" Amara attempted to control the blush which was rising in her cheeks.

Amara raised her head and locked eyes on the Lord Sforza who was standing in the centre of the room, his arms folded. "No."

"But you did see her on her wedding night?" Burchard questioned.

"Yes." Amara answered carefully.

Sensing her caution, Burchard pressed. "Could you please elaborate, My Lady?"

"Elaborate?" Amara panicked. What had happened on Lucrezia's wedding night had been embarrassing to live and repeat in her head she did not wish to tell the tale aloud.

"On what happened, on the said night?" Amara's mind raced. Juan Borgia continued to fill her cup and then she made a fool of herself in front of Cesare Borgia. She couldn't explain that to the Cardinal's present. "To the Lady Lucrezia."

Amara relaxed a little at the clarification but couldn't fight the flushing of her cheeks. Of course they didn't want to know about her. "She went to bed alone."

"Alone?" Burchard's eyebrow raised higher than before. "And do you believe that the Lord Sforza to be impotent?"

"I – " Amara's breath hitched blocking the syllable. It was a question she had not been expecting.

"You may speak plainly, my child." The Pope assured her. His eyes, along with the rest of the conclave were on her. Waiting for her to answer a question which would decide the fate of the Borgia family.

Amara cast her eyes forwards once more in the hope of avoiding the Lord Sforza's gaze and instead locked onto one much worse. Cesare was staring at her and she wondered if the gold cross which lay around his neck weighed as heavy as the one in her hand.

"Yes." She watched Cesare's chest fall as he released the breath he was holding. Amara turned from him to face a now smiling Pope, it seemed she had chosen correctly. "I believe the Lord Sforza to be impotent."

"Thank you for your honesty, My Child." She assumed the Pope's words allowed her to leave and nobody thought to stop her as she exited the conclave.

Amara returned to her room, hot, sticky and exhausted. Her mood, soon changed however, when her eye captured the golden hair of her sweetest and closest friend.

"Lucrezia." She breathed. The girls who were once inseparable had not seen each other since the day that the French came. Cesare had seemed to do everything in his power to keep the two a part by sending Lucrezia to the nunnery of St. Cecelia and denying Amara liberty to visit it.

The smile, which was plastered upon her face faltered a little as Lucrezia turned to reveal her changed figure.

"You are shocked?" Her friend asked with a hand placed upon her swollen belly.

"You are with child." Amara spluttered.

"A common illness, I hear." Lucrezia joked. The humour swept over Amara though, she couldn't think straight.

"Your husband is not impotent then?" Amara could not help but think of the answer she had just given to the conclave.

"The child, thank God," She rubbed her small hand over her swelling stomach. "Is not my husband's."

"The man you once talked of." She recalled their conversation outside all those months ago. "It is his then."

"Yes."

"And your husband?"

"Proved ungallant in his affection."

Amara was going to be sick. She reached backwards until her legs hit the bed sending her tumbling onto the plush frame. She had never felt such hatred and yet there was a more crushing feeling overcoming Amara. "I have declared upon my immortal soul that he was impotent."

"No, My sweet Amara." Lucrezia dropped to her knees in front of her and rested her head on her knee. "You declared that you _believed_ him to be impotent."

Amara raised her hand to stroke Lucrezia's shining hair on reflex. She attempted to soothe herself with Lucrezia's words but the feeling of guilt overwhelmed. "Tell me of the child's father?"

"Paolo," She tilted her head upwards watching her friend's reaction to the next words. "A stable hand."

"Quite romantic then." Amara leant down to kiss Lucrezia's head and then rose from the bed. "I am surprised there have been no sonnets or ballads written to describe it."

"I am afraid that Cesare did not take the news so well." There was a small silence until the younger pounce upon Amara in a warm embrace. "I have missed you."

"And I you."

They were drawn apart at the sound of Amara's chamber door. "You are a free women, sis." "You can watch him flee the city." Lucrezia's swift laughter followed her merry steps from the room.

"Will you not accompany us, Little Medici?" Cesare now questioned with a smile.

"I am afraid I'm very busy." She moved to rearrange the fabric on her skirt while using an excuse he had repealed her with a thousand times. "With Church affairs."

"Amara." He groaned.

"You may go." He excused him with a smile.

"Amara." He repeated while taking a step towards her.

Amara was quick to take a pace back and told him with her hand high, "You cannot avoid me, and keep me from Lucrezia, who you know I love and then expect me to fall back into place."

"Amara." They were so close that she thought he may kiss her again. She shook her head and stepped away from him. She couldn't afford to let that happen.

"Why didn't you tell me of her condition?" She commanded to know.

"Because we needed your confession." At least he was honest. There were men in the world who would not be, still, it was a little offensive to the dear Medici girl.

"And you didn't think I would give it." She accused.

"There was no need for you to be in that position." He fired back at her.

With blood boiling she stepped past the Cardinal to join Lucrezia on the balcony while saying: "Very well then."

* * *

**1495**

**April **

It was on the fourth night in April that Micheletto burst into Amara's chambers for once out of breath and declared that she must attend to the nunnery of St. Cecilia at once.

"Cesare." Amara ran to him, forgetting in the turmoil of birth that they were not on the speaking terms one would have hoped for.

No matter his thoughts, he embraced her shaking form willingly until she pulled away enquiring: "How is she?"

"Alive." A screaming groan stopped her reply from taken place.

"I should attend to her."

A force yanked her back and before Amara had time to register the sweetness of his lips was on hers once again. For the second time it was Cesare who broke the kiss resting his forehead against hers, "Take care of her." He whispered.

Amara managed in the drag her shaking form from his, the adrenaline which flooded through her veins however transformed to fear at the sight of Lucrezia on the bed.

"Amara." She groaned as another surging push went through her. Amara was sure Lucrezia couldn't say another word but her outstretched hand was invitation enough. "I will die on this bed."

"No you will not." Amara noticed, really noticed, for the first time the other figures in the room. And the stern voice which had soothed Lucrezia belonged to Ursula Bonadeo, she was nun now. The thought puzzled Amara and wondered if Lucrezia may have found the situation amusing if the circumstances had been different.

"Do not let my child die." Lucrezia begged.

"Nobody will die." Amara agreed with the women she had once hated. The women who was the past lover of the man who would soon be her own.

"You must push, my lady." The midwife commanded and Lucrezia released another moan as she attempted to control her pain through breathing.

Amara raised Lucrezia's clammy hand to her lips and kissed it as the midwife barked the need for water. Lucrezia pushed again, her whole body wrenching forwards as she did. Amara wondered if she found Ursula's quiet prayers reassuring as she did or if in the trials of birth prayers meant little to her.

They continued like this until the sound of a cry signalled that it was over.

Amara moved onto the bed to kiss Lucrezia's forehead softly. "It's over now." She soothed. "You have delivered of a healthy baby boy."

"Lucrezia." Her mother's relieved voice brought a weary smile to the girl's face and another stronger one appeared when Cesare squeezed her foot on the bed.

"We should give thanks." The sister dutifully suggested.

"Whom should we thank?" Cesare quipped.

"God." His holiness answered looking down at the small child in his arms. The true miracle of faith. He passed the baby into his mother's tender arms and Amara watched in wonder the love that Lucrezia showed almost instantly to the tiny human. "We should thank God, for all the blessing he has visited on this, our family."

_'__Your family._' Amara couldn't stop herself thinking. _'I am not a Borgia.'_

* * *

**A/N: So there we have it, The Unholy Family is OVER. I mean not forever, there's the second season but that is going to be under a different name so if you want to know when it's up just follow my profile user thing and then I think it tells you when I post a new story. I'm going to set season two in the beginning of 1496 I think so that skips forward most of this year. However, in that year a lot of Cesare and Amara happens so I am going to post a one shot to fill that in as well. **

**Speaking of Cesare and Amara - we got the kiss, in fact we got two. Did you guys like the way it happened or were you like - NO PLEASE TAKE IT AWAY! Just want to know. **

**Also I added a lot of extra stuff into this chapter like the Sant'Angelio bit and Christmas because I was reading a Borgia book and all this stuff happened so I thought I would mix it in - but if you guys hate it I can stick to just what happens in the programme. **

**What do you really want to happen in the next story because you kind of know the basics, since you've all watched the programme and all. For example about Amara's relationship with Juan, her family, the Pope and all that stuff. Including ma baby Alfonso - you poor child.**

**What about the end - I just wanted to make sure that everyone knew Amara is not entirely in the Borgia clan yet because I just don't think it would suit her character to be like WHOO GO THE BORGIAS SCREW THE MEDICIS! However, not saying it's out of the question.**

**What was everyone's favourite part of this chapter and also the whole story? **

**I ADORE everyone who reviews, I feel like we are such a close family now. Don't know why I just adore reading all of the reviews over and over again like a crazy person. **

**\- Anna xx**

**PS. Remember to look out for the next story - just add to your 'author alert' and then unfollow me when the story comes out :) **


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